


Run and Go

by Destiel_5eva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean, Crushes, Dean Has a Crush on Castiel, Domestic Violence, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealer Dean, Drugs, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, High School Student Castiel, High School Student Sam, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Masturbation, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Methamphetamine, POV Alternating, Shy Castiel, Smut, Top Castiel, Twink Castiel, Violence, Virgin Castiel, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiel_5eva/pseuds/Destiel_5eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s fingers clench where they rest inside his pocket. The little snap-lock bag filled with the crystallised meth sits in his curled fingers. He brushes against Edgar and with a flick of his wrist, Edgar has the drugs and he’s got the cash. He pockets the crumpled bills and keeps walking like nothing even happened. Edgar grunts out a slimy, “Pleasure doing business.” But Dean keeps walking.</p><p>Dean spends his days working away in Singer's garages and at night deals methamphetamine for one of the biggest drug syndicates in South Dakota. He doesn't enjoy it, but how else is he supposed to make enough money to put Sam through college? His life is miserable, that is until Sam invites his friends over to study and Dean lays eyes on Castiel Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from Twenty One Pilots' The Run and Go
> 
> Enjoy!

*****DEAN*****

The alley is slick from the rain they’ve had recently. Water pools on the drains and clings to the dumpsters on either wall leading down. Dean keeps his hood up and head down. He knows how this goes. His client does too. It’s quick. Barely any more words exchanged than there has to be.

Edgar is slumped about three quarters of the way down the alley. He’s dressed in a khaki jacket that has a thin layer of mud coating it. He’s grimy and dirty but he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is his next hit. He pushes off the wall when he sees Dean’s approach.

Dean’s fingers clench where they rest inside his pocket. The little snap-lock bag filled with the crystallised meth sits in his curled fingers. He brushes against Edgar and with a flick of his wrist, Edgar has the drugs and he’s got the cash. He pockets the crumpled bills and keeps walking like nothing even happened. Edgar grunts out a slimy, “Pleasure doing business.” But Dean keeps walking.

The streets are relatively quiet. But then again, it is ten past two on a Tuesday. Seriously, who else is up and about this early besides junkies and their dealers?

Dean walks with purpose, he’s determined to be home and in bed by three to get up by seven. He’s got to go to Singer’s: to work.

His Ducati sits exactly where he left it, shining black in the dim light of the moon. He straddles the seat, pulling the crumpled wads of cash from his pocket. He doesn’t count it now. He knows that if all of it isn’t there all he has to do is tell Azazel who’ll sic his muscle onto the junkies. They’d eventually cough up the rest. If not they’ll have a date with death. He tucks the money into a brown paper bag. He stores it down the waistband of his jeans.

Dean enjoys the feeling of the air rushing past him as he flies down the highway. He can’t go as fast as he’d like, being in the city. It still doesn’t stop him from gunning the engine every now and then just to feel her purr under him. He takes the back streets, as he gets closer to his destination. He parks the bike out the back of the store: Craft Projects from Hell. The name should give it away. Surprisingly the cops haven’t come sniffing around and none of the public suspect that their local arts and crafts store is just a front for one of the biggest drug syndicates in the state.

The rain has started to come down again. Dean jogs up to the back door, his boots slapping noisily in the dirt and cracked pavement.

Checking over his shoulder, he approaches the back door. Knocking once and then twice more in quick succession (their code) the eye slot shoots open and a pair of beady eyes glare down at him. “Let me in, Wrath,” Dean growls and the door clicks open. Pushing his way inside, past the burly man, he makes his way further into the back of the store. It’s dark up here. Lit only by a small lantern in the corner by the door. Presumably so Wrath has some light while he’s stationed by the door. For all intents and purposes, nobody is here right now.

He gets to the door leading down to the basement where most of the business is conducted. The basement is it’s own level. It’s down there that the meth is made. It’s down there that the cash is collected and it’s down there that people walk in and sometimes don’t walk out. Dean takes the stairs two at a time.

Down in the basement it is considerably better lit. Fluorescent lights brighten up the extensive maze of halls. He heads down, pausing at the third to last door on the right. He knocks once. Waiting to granted entry. A gruff voice calls for him.

The door squeaks when he opens and closes it behind him. “I have to get that fucking thing oiled,” Pride grouches.  He runs his hands through his dark hair in irritation. “Winchester. Good night?” Pride stands. Pride is whom Dean deals with the most and this room is the one Dean has the most contact with. He knows the layout by heart. The sagging sofa in the corner of the room. The rickety table in the centre of the room and the giant plush office chair Pride likes to sit in. There is also a liquor cabinet at the back of the room. A giant filing cabinet in which Dean has no idea of its contents. The room is spotless, just like Pride. He’s dressed in slacks and a button down shirt in a rich burgundy.

“It was fine.” Dean slaps the paper bag down on the table. “You want me to count it or do you want to do the honours?” Dean crosses his arms as he stands before Pride."

“Go ahead.” Pride waves Dean on. He turns, reaching for the mostly empty bottle of scotch that sits on top of the liquor cabinet. Dean gets to work separating the bills and counting the money meticulously. Eighty from Walker, two hundred from Gaines, one twenty from Andrea and lastly forty from Edgar. Once it’s sitting in nice neat piles he turns to Pride. “It’s all there: four forty,” Dean informs him. He slides the money back into one large pile, most of it is in the form of ones and twos.

“Excellent. This is why you’re one of the best, Winchester,” Pride claps him on the back as he rounds the table, his scotch now forgotten. “You get the deals done!” He takes the money and Dean knows that he’s been dismissed. He backs out of the room, checking his watch. Ten minutes to three. He can make it. He’s almost got the door closed behind him when Pride calls out, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night, Winchester.” Dean doesn’t reply. Of course he’ll be here tomorrow. It’s payday.

***

He shucks the cover down over his bike, giving her a pat before he heads inside from the garage. All the nights are out in the majority of the house. Except in the living room. The lamp is on, illuminating Sam’s sleeping form.

Textbooks for subjects Dean never even considered taking when he was in high school litter the floor around his brother. Dean smiles fondly noting the drool dampening the corner of Sam’s slightly open mouth. Where his head rests against the cushions. A pen is still clutched in his hand and what Dean assumes is a half written essay sit in his lap. Quietly, Dean begins gathering the books. He slides them all onto the coffee table. Taking the pen and essay from Sam setting them on top of the stack. He pulls his mom’s old afghan from the cushy armchair in the corner of the room and drapes it over Sam. He switches the light off before tiptoeing from the room and up to his bedroom.

His room is a mess. Clothes that may or may not be clean litter the floor. Skin mags are on nearly every surface of the room and there has got to be at least four coffee cups in here. Checking his watch again, Dean notes its three past three. He sighs. There’s no time like the present to do a spot of cleaning. He decides to leave the clothes for a more respectable hour and cleans up all the magazines. He dumps them onto his desk in a haphazard pile and collects the coffee cups. He almost gags when he sees the mould growing at the bottom of one. “Oh my God, I’m disgusting,” he mutters, running them out to the kitchen.

Once the room is up to his standards of cleanliness he collapses down onto the bed. He barely remembers to take off his boots. Sleep comes quickly. But so does daylight. Before he knows it the alarm on his phone is blearing the Motley Crue’s  _Kickstart My Heart_. With a few choice words Dean shuts off the phone, collapsing back on the mattress. Three and a half hours sleep is not what Dean would call a respectable number. Four yeah ok. But three and a half? Fuck no. Rubbing his eyes he sits up. The birds are tweeting and the sun has risen. Dean’s head also feels like it’s splitting open and his stomach growls its annoyance. Time to get up.

Sam isn’t camped in the living room when Dean gets down there. He must have stumbled off to bed somewhere in the early hours. Kicking a sock on his way to the kitchen Dean debates what to make for breakfast. Leaning against the bench top he mentally takes inventory.  _We’ve got bread and eggs and I think there’s some of that left over pie in the fridge from that bakery on the corner… that’s not breakfast food!_  Ok um… is there any cereal? Dean digs through the cupboards on the wall. There’s a box of corn flakes he checks the use by date, huh two years old, Dean dumps them in the bin. Fuck it. Toast. He gets to work shoving slices of bread in the toaster. Knowing how much Sam eats he’s probably going to have to toast half the loaf.

Coffee. He plugs the ancient machine into the wall and sets it to brew enough for at least four cups. Of course the stupid things just makes some gurgling noises of protest. Which results in Dean swearing and bashing the piece of shit against the bench top until it decides to work. Why is nothing easy?

“I don’t see why you just don’t buy a new one,” Sam utters from the doorway. He’s dressed for school and his hair is damp, meaning he just got out of the shower. Dean twitches in surprise, facing his brother.

“Because this one still works… kinda.” He gives it a friendly slap and a warning look. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Suuure.” Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing the plate piled with four pieces of toast. Sam turns to the fridge; juggling the butter and the horrible boysenberry jam he likes so much. He sets it all down on the bench top and begins liberally spreading the gunk onto his toast while Dean watches in disgust. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s not you that has to eat it,” Sam says his voice quiet, not looking up from his task. Dean pointedly looks away.

The coffee maker finishes its gurgling telling Dean that its either broken again or its finished. Dean prays to anyone who’s listening that it’s the latter. All he wants is some coffee. Is that too much to ask? He risks a glance at the devil machine and by God it is actually finished. He takes his mug and sets about adding sugar.

Joining Sam at the kitchen table, Dean sees that his brother has already devoured two of his four slices of toast. Jesus Christ that kid can eat fast. “So Dean…” Sam begins, chewing his toast. Dean raises his eyebrows at the teenager. “Got some friends coming over this afternoon. To study,” he adds.

“What friends?”

“Just Jess and this new kid. Castiel. He started the beginning of the year. He’s from Illinois,” Sam stuffs the rest of the slice into his mouth. Dean grimaces as Sam gets boysenberry jam all over his lips.

“What the hell is he doing in South Dakota?” Dean mutters sipping the scalding cup of tar his coffee maker calls ‘coffee’.

“He moved here with his older siblings. Like what we did. His parents passed and he moved here with his sister, Anna. They moved in with his brother but Cas doesn’t talk about him much. I don’t even know his name. But what I do know is that there’s something wrong with him. Makes Cas’ life hell,” Sam says it with the flippancy of a teenager. 

“Huh,” Dean grunts. “You wanna continue telling me the kids life story or you just want me to be your chauffeur to school?” Dean drains his mug. Sam nods, bringing his plate to the sink and running off to collect his books.

***

They’re silent in the Impala. Sam’s lost in his own world and Dean well; he’s got shit on his mind. He pulls up out the front of the school, turning to Sam. “Have a good day,” he says, eyeing Jess at the gates. She gives him a wave that he returns. She and Sam have been together for a while, just on a year now. Jess is practically family.  
Dean also notes that there is a boy standing next to her. He’s taller and with a shock of dark hair. He’s got his back to Dean so he can’t see his face. Broad shoulders lead down to what Dean would assume is a runner’s body. He’s not bulging with muscle like the incredible hulk; he’s lithe but not skinny. From here Dean can tell the kid is probably packing some serious muscle in that small body.

“Dean?” Sam clicks in front of his face and he scowls.

“What?”

“When you’re finished being all stalker. I said  _you’re holding up the line_ , bye,” Sam jumps out of the car. He slams the door shut before loping off to his friends.

*****SAM*****

“Hey,” Sam gives Jess a hug when he reaches the pair. Jess smiles brightly up at him and nods towards Castiel. He’s staring after the Impala.

“I think someone has a crush,” Jess whispers in Sam’s ear, getting up on her tiptoes to reach his height. Sam gives her a horrified look, but she just nods and giggles. Seriously? Castiel having a crush on Dean!? That’s crazy! Dean’s twenty-eight and Castiel is eighteen. No. Jess is insane.

Nonetheless, Sam watches Castiel as he turns back to them. His ears are tipped pink as if he heard what Jess said about the crush. He can’t have a crush on Dean. Dean is gross. He comes home from the garage covered in disgusting grease and then goes out again before coming home at lord knows what time.

***

Jess is insistent. She bounces on her toes in the lunch line. “What?” he asks eyeing her hair. It bounces with her movements and Sam just wants to reach out and curl his finger around the springy lock.

“I can’t wait to see how Cas reacts around Dean. He has the biggest crush on Dean. I was talking to him about it in class today.”

“You say ‘talking’ but I bet you were teasing the poor bastard,” Sam turns to her. She looks up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“I would never,” She says innocently, batting her eyelids. Sam smirks and soon Jess’ innocent façade cracks. She laughs. “Ok I may have teased him a little but seriously he is so gone for Dean. It’s adorable,” she gushes.

“I knew it,” he bumps his shoulder against hers.

*****CASTIEL*****

Jessica is telling him all about her new dog when Sam arrives. For curiosities sake, Cas turns catching a glimpse at the car he was dropped off in. He was not expecting a giant black muscle car and the hottest man he has ever laid eyes on. From where he’s standing he can’t make out much, except muscled biceps and short light brown hair, slightly pointed ears and a strong jaw. He’s certain that if he ever saw that man up close he is going to do something stupid like pop a very obvious boner. God that would be awkward. He turns back to his friends, flushing lightly. Sam is staring at him, a calculating look on his face. Unsure about what to do, he just smiles shyly.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hey. So Dean’s cool with you two coming over this afternoon. I figure we’ll just walk home it’s not far.” Sam turns, wrapping his arm around Jessica’s shoulders as they walk into the school. Cas trails behind, still awkward and not sure how to proceed. He’s only been at the school for a couple of weeks. Sam and Jessica were very welcoming and have accepted him into their little clique in which he’s thankful for. Lord knows what he would have done if everyone were as hostile as the cheerleaders he encountered on his first day. One, a blonde with a pointed nose and a spray tan that is just this side of too much, shoved him into the lockers on her way past, laughing with her friends when he fumbled with his books. His notes skittered across the floor and in his embarrassment, met Sam. Who helped Cas with his things and invited him to eat lunch with he and his girlfriend. Castiel had decided then that Sam and Jessica are the sort of people he wants to be friends with at this new school.

***

It’s clear that Jessica has been in Sam’s house multiple times before. She makes herself right at home, kicking off her shoes and dumping her books in the living room. Cas follows her lead. “Dean won’t be home for a couple hours,” Sam informs him from where he’s raiding the fridge. Cas nods, unsure about whether he should feel glad or disappointed with the news. He chooses neither and decides upon cool neutrality. “Hungry?” Sam asks he’s pulling out all sorts of fruit from the depths of the fridge. “I feel like fruit salad. Jess?”

“Yeah. It’s cool.” She moves about the kitchen with the ease of someone who’s spent a great deal of time in it.

“Cas?”

“I’m fine. Thank you though,” Cas politely declines, leaning against the bench top away from the two.

“Suit yourself,” Sam dumps an armload of fruit down on the bench. He and Jessica set upon making their snack. They keep up a running commentary throughout. “Dean thinks all this is rabbit food. What he doesn’t realise is that one day all the greasy food he eats is going to kill him,” Sam muses, slicing up apples. “Although, I have to admit, his bacon cheese burgers are really good. You like burgers, Cas?”

“Yes. I find them quite enjoyable,” Cas replies.

“You should try Dean’s. They are literally mouth watering,” Jessica turns to him, waving a knife about. Cas’ eyes widen. “Oops.” She smiles, setting the knife down. “But seriously. They are like this big.” She makes a circle with her hands almost the size of a basketball.

“They aren’t that big,” Sam scoffs.

“Ok. That was a bit of an exaggeration. But they’re huge,” Jessica gets back to chopping.

***

Sam and Jessica are arguing about the reason paper beats rock when the front door opens and heavy boots clomp into the kitchen. Cas perks up. It must be Dean home. “Paper beats rock because brains are more important that brawn,” Jessica argues. Sam shakes his head. “What? You think brawn is more important? You’re an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Sam mutters. “I just think that rock could represent more than just brawn. It could represent stability or longevity. Whereas paper is more instable and fleeting, that’s why rock beats paper,” Sam suggests, crossing his arms resolutely.

“What do you think?” Jessica turns to Cas. Her words are offering Cas for his opinion, but her demeanour says ‘agree with me’. He puts his hands up in surrender and Sam rolls his eyes.

“What are you two arguing about now?” Dean stands in the doorway to the living room. Cas can feel the threat of an approaching boner and he discreetly rearranges the books on his lap to disguise it should one occur. His hair is mussed, grease stains his arms, and his hands are practically black. His shirt that may originally have been heather grey is more brown and black. There’s a beer in his hand and Cas’ eyes do not linger on those unfairly plump lips when he lifts the bottle and takes a long drag.

“Sam and Jessica are arguing about the ambiguity of paper beating rock,” Cas mumbles, looking down at the pen in his hand. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him and he feels his cheeks heat.

“Nerd-Idiots,” Dean mutters, walking away. Cas heaves a sigh of relief. He looks up to find Jessica smirking at him. He hasn’t forgotten the interrogation she gave him during Calculus. His blush deepens.


	2. Chapter 2

*****DEAN*****

Dean’s almost finished working on some old clunker a customer insists needs to be fixed by the end of the week when Bobby shouts at him to get his ass into his office immediately. Dean wipes his hands on his jeans and heads through the garage. A mechanic who goes by the name Gallagher shoots him a questioning look. Dean shrugs, making sure his hands are relatively clean before he touches anything in the office. Customers don’t want to be seeing grease everywhere.

Bobby’s office is at the end of the hall and Dean knocks before entering despite the door being ajar. His momma raised him to be polite. He hears Bobby moving around inside and lets himself in. “Sit down,” Bobby points to one of the chairs in front of his cluttered desk. Bobby finishes shoving a pile of paperwork into his rusted to hell filing cabinet before he drops down into his own chair. “How much sleep did you get last night?” Bobby asks, directly to the point. Dean swallows hard. Bobby is giving him his no nonsense glare, his cap pulled low on his forehead, his eyes hidden in shadow thanks to the bill.

“A few,” Dean replies vaguely.

“ ‘A few’,” Bobby mimics, sneering at him. “Dean…” he sighs, his glare softening. “You have to get clean. Stop this drug madness.”

“Bobby, we’ve gone over this,” Dean tries to explain, but Bobby puts a hand up to stop him.

“You have a job here. You have to stay on the right side of the law! Dealing is illegal, Dean,” Bobby slaps a hand down on the stained desk.

“I know! But come on, you make it sound like I use too and I don’t!” Dean exclaims.

“Well, boy, do something! Get out. I know you can. If you won’t do it for you, do it for Sam,” Bobby reasons. Dean glares at him, he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I am doing it for Sam. Do you know how much college costs, Bobby? Thousands of dollars. It’s money I don’t have. It’s money I’ll never have if all I’ve got is my job here,” Dean tries to keep his temper under control. Bobby doesn’t know. Bobby doesn’t know how much he wants out. But he can’t. He needs the extra cash. He has debt up to his ears and it’s not even _his_ debt. It's fucking John Winchester's. The bastard drunk away all their money rather than paying off the mortgage to their old house, which is still sitting on the market back in Lawrence.

“Bullshit. What’s stopping Sam from going out and getting a job too? He’s a smart kid, I’m sure he could land a scholarship or two. You don’t have to load all the responsibility onto yourself,” Bobby reasons, leaning forward in his seat. Dean looks away, biting his lip.

“No. It’s my job to look after Sam and that means it is my responsibility to make sure he gets into college and he’s able to stay there.”

“Goddamnit Dean! No it’s not!” Bobby explodes. Dean’s head whips around. _What did he just say? Of course it is!_

“Yes it is!” Dean yells back. “It is because I’m his mom and his dad. I’m not just his brother. He needs me to do this for him. And for gods sake Bobby who asked you to stick your nose in anyway? I’m doing fine!” Dean glares at the older man, his hands clenched into fists and his breath sawing in and out of his chest.

“You did when you told me. If you didn’t want me to ‘stick my nose in’ as you so eloquently put it, you wouldn’t have told me. Just like you haven’t told Sam. Now get the hell out of my office,” Bobby says it calmly although Dean can see it in his face that his words have hurt the older man, no matter how much he hides it.

“Bobby…” Dean tries, guilt riddling him.

“Get out!” Bobby shouts and Dean has no choice but to obey.

Gallagher is waiting for Dean outside. Dean just storms past him, going out into the yard. He walks through the cars and keeps walking until he’s well away from everyone else. The sun beats down on him and sweat prickles the skin of his neck, but Dean keeps walking. He walks until he’s struggling to keep it together. Sobs build up in his chest, but he refuses to cry.

“FUCK!” He screams, grabbing the closest thing to him; an old tire, and throwing it as hard as he can. It lands on the rusted shell of a car with a solid BANG. Dry sobs wrack his body and Dean has to sit down. Resting his back against the hot metal of a crushed 1983 Ford Laser. He fists his hands, punching the gravel beneath him. Everything is fucked! He’s systematically breaking the law each time he goes back to the crafts store and for what? According to Bobby— nothing. And Bobby, fuck he’s probably not got a job anymore now that he’s accused Bobby of sticking his two cents worth in where it doesn’t belong. But God, he was right. He told Bobby because he wanted to know what the older man thought. He can’t tell Sam. He doesn’t have anyone else. He has no friends. He has nothing. Except Sam. Everything he does is for Sam.

But that’s ok because it’s _Sam_. Sam is his responsibility. He knows that. He _likes_ that. He loves his brother and he would do anything for him. But is dealing ice to people too fucked up to care really something he should be doing regardless of whether his intentions are pure or not?

Getting up, he heads back. Sliding back under the clunker he’s been working on and forgets all about his problems for now. He concentrates on fixing the car because that is what he’s good at; it’s what he knows and its what gives him purpose.

*****SAM*****

Sam knows that Dean doesn’t sleep the full night in his bed. He knows his brother goes out and doesn’t come home until late… or well early. He just wishes he knew where he went every night. But every time he tries to bring it up, Dean shuts him down. It’s infuriating! All Sam wants is to know the truth and if he can, help Dean some how.

But no, Dean just throws up his impenetrable walls and locks Sam out until he’s dropped the subject. Sometimes Sam wishes that mom or even dad was still here so he has someone else to try and convince Dean to open up a little.

Instead, he has Jess.

They sit out on the porch steps. It’s Sunday afternoon and the sun is just beginning to sink below the horizon casting everything in deep golden shadow. Jess rests against Sam’s side, her head tucked against his shoulder. Idly, Sam plays with her curls. It’s calming and apparently feels good to Jess, who has her eyes closed and hums under her breath.

“You know what?” Sam breaks the silence.

“What?”

“Maybe Dean is breaking the law. That’s why he won’t tell me.” Right now he’s just spit balling. He figures if he thinks up the worst possible scenario then when he does actually find out he won’t be as shocked. Jess snorts in amusement. “What?” he turns to her, trying to catch her eye. She smirks, turning her head away, chuckling to herself. “What? Tell me,” he pokes her in the ribs and the chuckling turns into girlier giggling. She remains silent. So he pokes her again.

“Sam! Stop!” she squeals, batting his hands away. She holds up her hands, ready to throw a punch if necessary.

“Tell me,” he pouts, playing up the puppy dog eyes. She rolls her eyes, relaxing back into his embrace.

“Have you every thought that maybe Dean’ll tell you when he’s good and ready? Maybe it’s not about you. Maybe you don’t need to know.” She tilts her head back and stares up into his face.

“This is going to sound really bad. But everything he ever does is about me. You know how many friends of his I’ve seen come over? In the five years we’ve been here. You know how many?” Jess is silent. “None. I’m not even sure he has any friends. I want him too. But how do you tell your twenty eight year old brother to go out and make some friends?” Jess shrugs. “It’s hard,” Sam huffs, picking up a stray lock of golden hair and twirling it around his finger. “He hasn’t even had any dates in months. And not just dates, he hasn’t had any one night stands either! The last one… what was his name Mitch? No…”

“Matthew?” Jess suggests.

“No. Michael! It was Michael. He was over four months ago. Four!” Sam slaps a hand down on his knee in outrage.

“Ok so maybe not. Maybe he’s hiding it for a good reason and it’s better for you not to know. I suggest…” Jess drops a kiss to Sam’s collarbone. “We…” She moves further up his neck, gently suckling the soft skin. “Don’t…” she turns, facing Sam. “Think about it.” She presses her lips to Sam’s.

“But…” Sam protests. Jess presses a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“You really want to argue about why your brother is keeping a secret from you instead of making out with me?” She cocks an eyebrow in disbelief. _Um no. Hell no_. Jess removes her finger and Sam scoops her up. He stands on wobbly legs, a cackling Jess in his arms. He carries her bridal style into the house.

“No. You’re right. Making out with you is a much better option,” he agrees, walking her down to his bedroom. Jess nods, using both hands to hold Sam’s head still and plants her lips straight on his.


	3. Chapter 3

*****DEAN*****

“Alright listen up,” Sloth snaps, pounding a fist down on the wooden dining room table Dean is pretty sure someone stole. It’s mahogany and looks brand new. They sit in the ‘conference room’. By ‘they’ he means he and the rest of the dealers. Apparently there is some urgent announcement to be made. He props his head up on his fist, scratching the varnish off the table in his boredom. He looks up when Sloth speaks. “It seems we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“What’s it this time?” Meg utters, kicking her boot clad feet up on the table. Sloth glares at her.

“It seems the cops have been getting a bit suspicious and are cruising the regular haunts. I suggest if you don’t want to get done, you scatter for a bit. Choose somewhere else to do the deals. I don’t really give a fuck. Just don’t get caught,” he glares at each member in turn. There are five of them. Meg, Dean, Lilith, Tammi and Bela. Apparently they're the only ones because they’re nice to look at.

“Who tipped ‘em off?” Tammi demands, crossing her arms over her chest and flicking her short hair back from her face with a jerk of her head.

“Dunno,” Sloth answers. “Don’t really care. If you want to know, bring it up with Crowley.” Nobody speaks.

Nobody speaks to Crowley. He’s the big boss. The head honcho, if you will. He runs the show but you don’t hear from him. There is a chain of command, which _must_ be followed. Dean’s only ever seen him once—when he first got in. That was two years ago.

“Any questions?” Sloth drawls, leaning over the table and staring everyone directly in the eye. Dean shakes his head, trying to stifle a yawn. The other girls mutter their negatives. “Good. Get out.”

***

“Hey Dean you heading over to the bridge?” Meg jogs to catch up with his long legged strides.

“You know I am,” Dean doesn’t stop walking.

“Good. I’m catching a ride,” Meg trots, jamming her hands in the pockets of her black leather jacket.

“Like hell,” Dean turns on her, bringing them to a sudden stop.

“Why the fuck not?” She raises her chin, glaring up at him in defiance. He glares back, remaining silent. “Is it because you don’t like me? Oh I’m so offended,” she rolls her eyes, sarcasm practically dripping from her lips. With a growl, Dean keeps walking. The clack of Meg’s boots follows him.

He thrusts the helmet into Meg’s arms, muttering under his breath. She gives him a flirtatious smile and slips it on, tucking her hair underneath. Dean rolls his eyes, sliding onto the seat. He straddles the bike, waiting for Meg to get on before starting it. The engine comes to life with a loud growl. They’re zooming down the street before Meg even has a grip around his waist.

“Asshole,” she screams into his ear, pinching his side.

“You’re the one who wanted the ride,” Dean calls back, gunning the engine.

***

By the time they get to the ‘bridge’ Dean’s eyes are dry and itchy. _Screw Meg, this is all her fault_ , he thinks, rubbing his eyes. She thrusts the helmet back into his arms before walking off without so much as a “thanks”.

“You’re welcome!” Dean shouts after her, sarcasm thick in his voice. Meg turns, giving him a little mocking wave. “Bitch,” he whispers under his breath.

Dean clutches the small bags of drugs in his pocket as he walks. He has about an hours wait between clients and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Maybe Meg’ll hang around so he doesn’t have to spend the time alone.

His ‘work’ phone buzzes from the back pocket of his jeans and he pulls it out.

**> Were r u? Late.**

Dean ignores the bad spelling, flipping it closed. Balthazar is a drug addict as it happens and Dean can’t expect the guy to have too many brain cells left. He ignores the text and keeps walking. Balthazar’ll wait. If he wants the drugs, he’ll wait.

Dean sees Balthazar before he sees Dean. He’s slumped against the grimy wall. Really it looks like the wall is the only thing holding him up. He walks slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world. Balthazar looks up when Dean’s about ten paces away. He jumps away from the wall, stalking towards Dean. He’s twitchy. Bathazar’s hands shake violently and he keeps looking around as if he’s expecting someone to jump out of the shadows and get him. “Late,” he growls, glaring fiercely. Dean stares back at him without a care.

“I’m here now aren’t I?” Balthazar mutters something unintelligible, reaching out. “Nup.” Dean takes a step away. “Not after last time. Money first.” Balthazar sighs as if Dean’s done him some great injustice. He digs around in his coat pockets. He thrusts a lump of crumpled bills at Dean. He’s sure to count it out extra slowly just to spite him. Balthazar is seedy. Dean’s pretty sure the guy has a family he’s supposed to be providing for, except he wastes all his cash on drugs. Like now. Dean tucks the eight hundred dollars into his pocket handing over the zip locked bag. Balthazar snatches it away, almost running from Dean who just snorts and walks away in the opposite direction.

“Urg don’t you just hate men like that?” Dean doesn’t acknowledge the question; he just keeps walking towards his bike. Meg joins him, walking close to his side. To anyone else they’d look like a couple. Meg sticking close to his side as if he’ll protect her in this rundown part to town. Little do they know, Meg’ll be more likely to slash their throat with the hunting knife hidden down her boot and then rob them of everything of value, before walking away. “Really Dean this whole ignoring me thing is getting extremely old,” she slaps his arm none too gently.

“Go away Meg,” he mutters, not in the mood for her shit.

“Oh Dean,” she tsks. “Is someone in a bad mood?” she croons, hooking her arm around his and clasping his hand. He jerks away from her.

“Leave me alone.” He jogs to get away from her and surprisingly she doesn’t follow. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. If Meg hung around him for and hour he’d want to kill himself.

*****CASTIEL*****

“So um…” Cas trails off. He scratches his eyebrow in his nervousness. Sam and Jessica stare at him patiently waiting for him to continue. His heart beats a staccato in his chest. He really wants to invite his friends over. But what if his brother is home? What if he’s trashed the house again? _Screw it!_ “Do you wanna, maybe, come back to my house and um hang out?” he cringes at how awkward he sounds. Jessica grins, flashing blindingly white teeth. She slaps him on the arm.

“Of course!”

Cas breathes out a sigh of relief. “Ok. Um… great.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. A sense of relief washes over Cas. Maybe he’s finally getting the hang of this ‘friends’ thing.

***

Cas pauses in the hall outside their apartment. He prays that the subtle thump he just heard isn’t what he thought it was. Sam and Jessica stop, they stare at him in confusion.

“You ok Cas?” Sam asks, looking slightly concerned. Cas pastes a smile onto his face, rucking his backpack higher onto his back.

“Yes.” He moves past them, pulling out his key. The door is already open and he takes that as a sign that Anna is home. He pushes it open and deflates. With hunched shoulders he turns, still in the doorway. He tries his best to shield his house from the view of his friends.

“Cas?” Jessica raises an eyebrow. Sam however, just tries peaking past him. It isn’t that hard considering he has a good four inches on Cas.

“Oh god,” he whispers. Cas hangs his head, shame heating his cheeks. “What happened?” Sam asks.

“Um… it’s hard to explain. It’s not a good time. Maybe you both should just go,” Cas says it quietly. He feels humiliated. He doesn’t know why. In the back of his mind he knew that there was the chance that this was going to happen.

“What? Why? We can help you clean, if you want? What happened, Cas?” Jessica places a hand on his shoulder. It hurts to see the concern in his friends’ eyes.

“Castiel? Is that you?” he hears Anna call out to him. She must be in the kitchen. Oh God, if she’s in the kitchen then that means that he’s worse than last time. Cas sighs.

“Please. I’ll call you.” It takes everything Cas has to close the door on his friends. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, walking away.

He stares at the mess before him. It looks like a pack of wild dogs tore the place apart. Stuffing from the couch cushions blankets the floor like snow. Framed photos lay cracked in the ground. The glass coffee table is shattered and there’s a fist-sized hole in the drywall by the TV. Cas rubs his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He can’t let his emotions get the better of him now. He has to help clean up.

He steps over the mess and heads for the kitchen. He gasps when he sees the mess. Anna is hunched over in the corner of the kitchen. It looks as if his brother just started grabbing plates and smashing them, throwing them against the walls and stomping them into dust. White ceramic lay everywhere. Without a word Cas stoops and begins picking up the shards and placing them into the bucket with the rest. Anna sniffles as she works and it physically hurts Cas to see his sister upset.

Putting down half a plate he dusts off his hands. Walking on his knees he wraps his arms around Anna’s shoulders. She immediately stops; turning to Cas she looks up at him, tears in her eyes. “What are we going to do?” she whispers in anguish. Cas holds her and she tucks her face against his shoulder as she cries. They sit, slumped in the kitchen for a while, just getting their emotions under control. Cas can’t count the number of dinner sets they’ve already gone through. It seems that when his brother comes home, high as a kite, the first thing he does is smash plates. Cas wishes he would pick something more economical than plates to break. Buying new dinner sets every week isn't exactly cheap.

There’s an ache in his chest and Cas doesn’t know how to get rid of it. He rubs Anna’s back and wipes away her tears. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I don’t know.”

***

Cas stuffs all the pillows into a pile. He’s going to have to grab out the sewing kit to stitch them back together: for the fifth time. Going over to the closet he pulls out the little clear box filled with needles and different coloured reels of cotton. There are scissors and pins and almost everything they could ever need to patch up the messes his brother makes. He sits down on the couch, grabbing a pillow and a handful of stuffing. Humming to himself is gets to work mending the pillows. Anna joins him and they sit in silence, side by side on the couch sewing up the pillows.

Finally, Anna speaks, “I’m sorry Castiel. You shouldn’t have to be having to do this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas replies, concentrating on the neat blanket stitch he decides to use to fix the cushion.

“I can’t! You’re supposed to have friends over. Have fun; be normal. Not have to clean up the apartment after our inconsiderate asshole brother destroys it!” Anna is furious. Cas looks at her and isn’t surprised to find that she’s red in the face and her hands are trembling.

“Since when have the Novak’s been normal?” Cas puts down the pillow he’d been working on. He takes Anna’s hands. “Look at me,” he insists, giving her hands a little squeeze. She looks up, her eyes watering again. Cas can feel himself getting a little teary; he swallows down the knot in his throat. “Who wants to be normal anyway? I like the idea of a world where people say ‘normal’ like it’s an insult and if that means having to stitch up pillows and clean up broken plates then that’s just how it’s going to be. Ok?” Anna sniffs; ducking her head she nods weakly.

“He’s in the bathroom: passed out. I can’t lift him,” she sniffles.

“I’ll get him into bed.” Cas stands, heading into the bathroom. He finds his brother slumped against the tub his head cocked back and his legs splayed wide. Castiel huffs, kicking his ankle. “Wake up.” Silence. “Get up!” Cas shouts and his brother snorts awake. He glares at Cas through bloodshot eyes.

“What the fuck?” he grunts.

“Get up. Bed. Now,” Cas leans down, heaving his brother up with a hand on his shoulder and a firm grip around his wrist. He slumps over Cas, not even trying to hold himself up. Cas grunts at the added weight and pitches to the side, slamming into the wall. He grits his teeth at the jolt of pain in his shoulder when it connects with the tiled wall. Castiel staggers out of the bathroom dragging his brother down the hall to his bedroom. Cas doesn’t even bother turning down the bed before shoving his brother down. The bed creaks and groans when his brother lands, face down in the pillows. Stepping over the clothing and disgusting take away containers littering the floor Cas retreats. Turning back, he lets his eyes sweep over the limp form on the bed. “Good night Balthazar.” He flicks off the light and returns to Anna’s side and the remainder of the mess Balthazar made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst! Don't forget to leave comments and kudos :D


	4. Chapter 4

*****SAM*****

Sam tries not to look too much into it. He really does. He knew Cas was… hesitant about introducing he and Jess to his family. But what he didn’t expect was for the front door to be closed in their faces and sobs echoing from somewhere inside his house. It’s weird.

It was especially weird when Cas came to school the next day with dark circles under his eyes like he barely slept a wink all night.

History is the only class he and Cas share. It also happens to be first period. Cas sits in the desk in front of him and generally sits with such a straight back Sam sometimes wonders how the hell he’s not aching. But not today. Today Cas slumps down in his chair, his head resting on his fist. It takes Sam a moment to realise its because his friend is asleep.

“Cas?” he kicks one of the legs of Cas’ chair, trying to get him to wake before the teacher notices. “Jesus Cas, wake up!” Sam hisses, kicking the chair again and Cas jolts awake, knocking a pen from his desk in the process. The jostling catches the attention of everyone in the class. Everyone is staring and Sam feels bad for Cas knowing the poor guy isn’t all that good with attention. As he expected, a flush spreads up Cas’ neck as he slides down in his chair to retrieve his pen. The teacher clears his throat and just like that, the student’s attention is diverted back to class, but not before Sam hears the snickers. He glares in the girls’ direction. Their smirks are filled with a loathing that astounds Sam. They don’t know Cas. Why must they act so negatively towards the guy? He’s never done anything to them. Sam settles for sending them pointed looks.

***

Cas doesn’t look any better as the day progresses. If anything he looks worse and worse. It’s worrying. At lunch he rests his head on his arms and if it weren’t for Jess’ chatting Sam thinks he would have fallen asleep again. Sam places a hand on Jess’ to subtly shush her. She sends him a confused look and Sam nods to Cas. His eyes are shut and he looks relaxed. He really has fallen asleep. “Is he ok?” Jess whispers as not to disturb him. It is kind of ironic considering she’d been almost shouting at Sam whilst recounting an argument she had with her sister, only a minute before.

“I don’t know. He fell asleep in History this morning and now… I don’t know. You think it has something to do with his house being a mess and the crying we heard?” Sam is thoughtful as he digs around in the tinned spaghetti the lunch lady slapped unceremoniously onto his tray.

“Maybe. Hey! Invite him to stay with you and Dean…” Jess slaps his arm as the idea strikes her.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you trying to hook him up with my brother does it?” Sam cocks an eyebrow. Jess has the audacity to look slightly put out.

“No. I was just suggesting an alternative to what is clearly an unsatisfactory living situation and you’re accusing me of playing matchmaker! Samuel Winchester how dare you,” Jess crosses her arms, pouting. Sam rolls his eyes, smirking. Jess huffs, turning away.

“Aw come on, Jess. I know what you meant. I was just teasing,” Sam throws his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He gives her his best puppy dog eyes. She narrows her eyes and Sam flutters his lashes. Jess sighs dramatically before lightly slapping his face.

“You’re going to invite him over for the night,” Jess says resolutely. “And if it so happens to bring Cas and Dean closer so be it.” Sam shakes his head. She’s relentless. It’s one of the reasons why he loves her.

“Ok, Jessie, whatever you say,” Sam murmurs, lightly suckling at the delicate skin behind her ear. She shivers and Sam internally high fives himself.

“Stop that!” Jess jerks away, slapping his arm. “And don’t call me Jessie!” she gives him a glare. Another reason why he loves her: she doesn’t take his shit. She doesn’t take anybody’s shit.

“You two are disgusting,” Cas yawns. He straightens from his slouched position across from them, stretching his arms above his head. Sam winces at the two audible pops as Cas flexes his spine like a cat.

“Sam has something to ask you,” Jess not so subtly elbows him in the ribs.

“Ow!” He rubs at the spot her bony elbow jabbed him. Jess gives him a pointed look. “Fine.” He turns to Cas. “Man, you aren’t looking so good and I just want to say, that if you ever need a place to stay, for whatever reason. You can crash at mine.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas looks flustered. Like nobody has ever been kind enough to offer him a place to stay.

“It’s fine. I’m sure if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same,” he gives Cas a reassuring smile.

“That’s true. You are very kind Sam,” Cas says sincerely. Sam looks away. Oh boy. It was _not_ meant to get this emotional.

“That goes for tonight too!” Jess adds, reaching across the table and giving Cas’ hands a pat. “Really, whenever you need,” Jess emphasises.

“Thank you, Jessica.”

“She’s not going to back off until you agree to stay tonight at mine,” Sam stage whispers before shoving a forkful of the limp spaghetti into his mouth.

“Oh. I’m very flattered but…”

“Cas, come on. You can tell us. How many hours of sleep did you get last night? I’m going to make an educated guess based on the fact that you spent the last fifteen minutes napping and that you fell asleep in History and say two or three,” Jess tilts her head to the side, regarding Cas. Sam knows that look. It’s the look that says ‘contradict me’. He’s been on the receiving end too many times to count.

“Something like that,” Cas murmurs, scratching the back of his neck.

“Exactly. Now we understand you may not be comfortable sharing your home life with us just yet. We respect that. We just want you to know that we wont abandon you. Ok?” Jess’ ‘contradict me’ look softens.

“I appreciate that, Jessica but…”

“Humour me!” Jess throws her hands up and Cas looks away, biting his lip.

“Ok,” he caves and Jess throws her hands up in triumph. She quickly stands and skipping around the table, she throws her arms around Cas, hugging him tightly.

“Yay! Thanks Cas. You just made my day a whole lot better,” She smacks a loud kiss to his cheek that has Cas blushing right to the roots of his hair. Sam snorts and shakes his head; content to shovel the disgusting gruel they serve as opposed to food.

***

Dinner is an interesting affair. Dean is totally wrapped up in some mechanical thing that Sam has absolutely no clue about. Except that there is a dirty greasy lump of _car_ on his freshly cleaned dining room table. Dean left it there when his phone rang and he hasn’t been back for it in the half hour Sam has been giving it the stink eye.

“Why don’t you just move it?” Cas suggests, bending over to check on the chicken and cheesy pasta bake he has in the oven.

“Are you kidding? Look at the amount of grease on that thing! I’m cooking!” Sam is indignant. Cas raises an eyebrow. “Fine. You’re cooking. I’m… _supervising_.”

“The table needs to be set anyway, dinner is almost done,” Cas replies, resting against the bench top. Sam huffs, storming over to the table. He eyes the little metal chunk like it’s about to grow teeth and bite him. Gritting his teeth, he picks it up. He can feel the grease clinging to his fingertips and sliding against his palm. For fucks sake.

“DEAN!” he yells storming off into the house. He ignores Cas’ chuckling from the kitchen in favour of finding his damn brother and disposing of this… thing.

“WHAT?” Dean shouts back. By the sounds of it, he’s in his bedroom. Sam stomps down the hall.

“Did you forget something on the table?!” Sam fumes, holding the offending object as far away from him as he can. Dean’s bedroom door opens and he meets Sam out in the hall.

“Oh yeah. Oops,” Dean grins, taking the part from Sam. He reaches out to ruffle Sam’s hair but he gives his older brother a scathing look, ducking out of the way. “What’s up with you?” Dean mutters, his attention going to the greasy metal in his palm. Idly, he uses his shirt to wipe away some of the dark gunk. Sam balks at the movement, shaking his head.

“Nothin’. Dinner’s ready,” he retreats down the hall.

***

Cas eats politely. Taking small dainty bites and going back to sitting with a ridged spine. Dean however, Sam is ashamed to say, shovels the food into his mouth. Sam shakes his head. He has no idea what anyone sees in his brother. He really is disgusting.

Speaking of people seeing non-existent things in his brother. Cas is staring at Dean with thinly veiled attraction. Sam snorts, drawing both their attentions. Cas flushes a brilliant red, staring resolutely at his plate, knowing he’s been caught. Dean however, gives Sam a weird look. “The fuck?” he grunts, mouth still filled with food. Sam grimaces at him.

“I was just wondering to myself how you ever manage to get people to sleep with you. You truly are disgusting,” Sam states mildly. Dean retaliates by giving Sam a broad grin showcasing the half chewed food in his mouth. “Ew Dean.” Sam punches his arm and Dean pokes his tongue out. Sam shudders to think what Cas finds attractive about that. He looks over and Cas has that dopey look on his face. His jaw slack and his eyes glazed over. He notices Sam watching him and he quickly goes back to eating. Jess is going to _love_ hearing about this.

***

“Your new friend… Cas, he seems nice,” Dean says, a couple days later. Immediately, Sam is on high alert. Was this Dean trying to weasel information out of him about Cas? Does he reciprocate Cas’ feelings?

“Yeah. He’s cool,” Sam decides to play it cool, see where Dean’s going to go with this. Dean doesn’t say anything else and Sam feels his suspicions die. So much for that. “I think something is going on with him at home though,” Sam says, steadily mutilating his remaining piece of toast with a butter knife.

“Why?” Dean asks, sipping his coffee.

“Well, he invited Jess and I back to his place but the house was trashed and he looked really ashamed. But like he expected it to be like that. I think it happens often. Anyway, he closed the door in our faces. Poor guy,” Sam shakes his head, feeling bad for Cas.

“Huh,” Dean grunts. Sam narrows his eyes at him. Dean doesn’t seem all that… shocked. He can’t really be that heartless, can he?

*****DEAN*****

Dean makes sure to stick to the shadows. Neon lights light up the building across the street like a Christmas tree. Some of the girls stand out the front, seducing potential customers. They’re dressed in what Dean is inclined to call lingerie with their faces made up to make them especially appealing for horny strangers. Dean shakes his head before stepping off the curb and heading across the street.

He meets Andrea by the dumpsters. She visibly brightens when she sees him. Dean knows she’s more happy to see the drugs than she is him, but never the less it feels nice to have a girl perk up in your presence once and a while.

“Dean,” she purrs, a slender arm finding it’s way to his collar, long fingers trace his collarbone and she leans into him, attempting to brush her ample cleavage against his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, cut the act,” Dean rolls his eyes, ignoring the stirring arousal deep in the pit of his gut. At once, Andrea moves away from him, her arm dropping away. “You have the money?” Dean raises an eyebrow, pulling out the little package. Andrea nods. “Well?” Dean refrains from tapping his foot. He doesn’t have all night for shits sake. Andrea winks, making a show of pulling out the folded notes from the sheer fabric of her lacy panties. She hands it over and Dean quickly tucks it away, not wanting to have it touch his skin for too long. That money is disgustingly dirty. He hands over the drugs and walks away. As far as he’s concerned nothing happened. He doesn’t know her. She doesn’t know him.

Lisa, on the other hand is a little different. Dean looks down at her, trying to shove down his irritation. Really it isn’t that hard. You cough up the money or you don’t get your next hit. Simple as that.

“Please, Dean. I’ll have the money by the morning. Please just, give it to me. I can pay you, I promise!” Lisa drapes her small body against his, trying to suck up the only way she knows how: with her body.

“You know the rules, Lisa. No money. No package.” Dean takes a step away from her. Her act vanishes the instant she realises Dean’s not falling for it.

“Give me it!” she hisses, heels clacking against the pavement. Dean shakes his head and that’s it. Lisa snaps. She throws herself at him. Clawing and screaming and chucking a tantrum. A stiletto heel stomps down on his instep and even with his boots Dean feels it. He cries out in pain, pushing her away. “I need them! I need them! Give me them!” she rants, clawing out, glittery fake nails shining under the fluorescent streetlight. She aims for Dean’s eyes and it takes a bit of manoeuvring, trying to keep her hands away from his face. She’s crazy. Absolutely barking mad.

“Stop you crazy bitch!” Dean grunts, her nails catching him across the cheek and Dean feels the sting as his skin is ripped open. “Stop!” Dean grapples for her wrists, squeezing just a tad too hard as he spins her around and holds her back to his chest. Lisa kicks and stomps but with her arms immobile she can’t do much. She screams her anger. Breathing hard, Dean shoves her forward and stomping his guilt down leaves her sprawled on the ground before getting the hell out of there.

***

Dean ignores the laughter from Bela and Tammi as he stalks through the basement, hiding his limp as best he can. Damn bitch with her ungodly high heels. He can feel the blood congealing on his cheek and refrains from scratching at it. He’s mad. Furious really. It’s almost five in the morning. He’s got work in three hours.

Pride just smirks at him when he slaps down the cash. “It’s all there. Oh and…” he pulls out Lisa’s drugs. “Lisa Braeden couldn’t pay up so there.”

“I’ll assume it was her that got you in the face,” Pride sips at his scotch, regarding Dean from behind his desk. Dean nods, bottling up his anger. There really is no point in him getting angry here. No one will do anything about it. Pride sighs, knocking back another mouthful of his scotch, “Well I suppose you can go now. You look like you’re one snarky comment away from knocking someone’s block off and I’d rather not have to explain to Crowley why there’s a blood stain in the carpet.” Pride makes a shooing motion with the half empty bottle.

“Fucking gladly,” Dean utters under his breath, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame, on his way out.

***

Dean knows that it’s way to early to be up. He knows Sam is asleep. He knows he should be quiet. But it’s hard! He’s pissed. The more he tries to be quiet the more noise he seems to end up making. It started when he accidentally knocked over his toolbox in the garage. The sharp clanging and raucous noise the stupid thing made when it fell still echoes in his ears.

Now he’s in the bathroom digging around for a band aid or _something_ to stick over the scrapes marring his cheek. Dean stares into the mirror. His eyes are ringed in dark circles and capillaries creep like ghostly arms towards his irises. Dean blinks. He scans the scratches. There are three. Two are more prominent and have bled, the blood having trickled down his cheek a little. The other is an angry red line.

The throbbing in his foot forces him to take a seat. He refrains from slamming the toilet lid down before kicking off his boots and socks. There is a little red circle right in the centre of his foot. Around it is a forming bruise and its swelled a little. Dean scoffs at himself for being such a baby.

He goes back to finding a band aid, digging around in the cabinets below the basin. “Where the fuck… I swear I bought some… fucking Sam,” he mutters to himself irritably. He pulls out a box, eyes scanning over the label: Star Wars band aids. They’ll do.

He’s leaning close to the mirror, trying in vain to stick a Star Wars band aid over the scrapes when he catches movement behind him, reflected in the mirror. He jumps back, turning, expecting an intruder. Because seriously, nobody should be awake this early.

It’s just Sam.

“What are you doing?” he yawns. Dean turns back to his task.

“Nothing. Be back to bed,” is his gruff reply. Sam, being Sam, doesn’t listen. Instead he steps further into the bathroom, squinting into the mirror.

“What happened to your face?” concern laces his voice and it makes Dean just that little bit angrier. He does not need Sam being concerned about him. He’s twenty-eight. An adult.

“None of your business! I told you to go back to bed,” he turns on his brother, glaring. Sam takes a step back, shocked from the anger in Dean’s voice.

“Let me help you,” he says quietly, putting on the puppy dog eyes. Dean glares at him. He can’t succumb to the look! He can’t.

He does.

With a huff, he sits down on the closed toilet seat and Sam makes a little pleased noise. He squats down and begins digging around in the cabinets Dean just trashed. “There’s nothing in there. I just checked,” Dean rubs his eyes wearily. Sam hums, pulling out a little spray bottle of antiseptic and _normal_ band aids of all sizes. _Where the fuck did he get those?_ Sam sprays a cotton ball with the antiseptic and gently dabs Dean’s cheek.

“You aren’t going to tell me how you got these are you?” Sam murmurs, sticking the band aid over the scratches. Dean stares at his brother. Of course he isn’t. He shakes his head and Sam sighs wearily. “Well, I think you should take the day off and get some rest. I’m sure Bobby’ll understand.” Dean shakes his head again. “Dean,” Sam’s voice hardens and he looks directly into his little brother’s eyes. Sam looks slightly pissed. It’s a look he doesn’t see on Sam all too often. He looks away.

“No Sam.” He stands and stepping over his brothers crouched form, he retreats to hide in his room. He’s not doing this. Not now. He’s too damn tired.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi there's nsfw content in this chapter guys.

*****CASTIEL*****

Cas has been avoiding his apartment like it houses the bubonic plague. Anna doesn’t mind. She stays with her boyfriend and will only come home if Cas explicitly asks her to. He stays with Sam a couple nights a week and he sometimes even crashes at Jessica’s. But those nights are few and far between.

“Hey Cas while you’re up can you get me an apple?” Sam shouts from where he’s camped on the living room floor swaddled in textbooks.

“Of course,” Cas calls back, turning on his heel and heading into the kitchen. He stops in his tracks when he sees Dean, who has yet to see him, being too busy pulling items out from the fridge. Cas doesn’t breathe, can’t breathe. He just stares, his heart pounding in his chest. His crush for the elder Winchester has only gotten worse over the past weeks. And now, Dean stands clad in only a pair of boxers obviously having just woken up even though it’s close to midday on a Saturday.

Sam has confided in him that Dean spends most of the night, every night, out. He clearly makes up his sleep on the weekends, staying in bed for most of the day.

Cas watches the muscles in Dean’s back ripple as he reaches deep into the fridge, digging around for something. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. He really has to get over this crush before something horrendous happens, like making an even bigger fool of himself than he already has. It hasn’t escaped his notice that Dean is  _much_ older than he. He doesn’t know Dean’s exact age but he pegs him to be in his mid to late twenties. But damn if that doesn’t turn Cas on even more.

“You ok?” he comes back to himself to find Dean staring at him a quirked eyebrow and wry smile in place. Cas blushes, moving further into the kitchen.

“No… no. I’m just getting an apple for Sam,” Cas stutters, eyeing the fruit bowl. It’s on the countertop. Behind Dean.  _Oh lord_. Dean looks over his shoulder before turning back to Cas. He makes no attempt to move out of the way. Cas swallows again, taking slow steps towards Dean. It’s as if Dean is a wild animal and he knows he shouldn’t get too close for fear of getting bitten.

Cas reaches past Dean and grabs an apple; he desperately tries to ignore their close proximity. He tries to ignore the fact that if he moves even a _half_ an inchto the right, he’ll be brushing against Dean’s bare chest. He holds his breath, keeping his eyes downcast.

Dean moves first, brushing against Cas’ arm as he crosses the kitchen. Cas bites his lip stifling his gasp at the contact. Dean’s chest is firm, but not washboard  _I’m a bodybuilder_ firm and Cas likes that. He likes the tiny bit of pudge just above the waistband of Dean’s boxers. Not that he’s noticed the pudge above the waistband of Dean’s boxers… because he  _hasn’t._ Cas takes a moment to compose himself. He does not want a hard on now. God that would be the death of him. He hears Dean chuckle from behind him and its as if the bastard knows. He fucking  _knows_ exactly what he’s doing. Cas spins and Dean is  _right_ there. He crowds Cas back against the bench, placing his palms on either side of Cas, against the smooth wood. He fucking  _smirks,_  while Cas just gapes.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, his voice low and husky. Cas snaps his mouth shut, clenching the apple tightly in his fists.

“Dean.” His voice is strangled.

“Can you grab me a banana?” Dean asks casually, stepping away from Cas. He nods once, picking out the fruit. He hands it over and Dean takes it with a smile.

“Thanks.” He stays, one pace away and begins pealing it. Cas knows where this is going and fuck, fuck, fuck. His dick stirs in his pants and Cas resists palming himself through his jeans. Dean catches his eyes and raising the banana to his lips, sucks in the tip and hollowing his cheeks, moans.

That’s it. That’s fucking it. Cas bolts. He races out of the kitchen like his ass is on fire. Dean’s cackling chases him and Cas feels his face light up. Fucking Dean Winchester is going to be the death of him.

***

“What’s got you so worked up?” Anna smirks at him from across the table.  _Dean. That’s what_. He says nothing though, just continues to pick at his green beans. “Come on, Castiel, you can tell me,” Anna grabs his hand over the table, ducking to meet his eyes, she smiles.  _Fuck it._

“Sam has an older brother. His name is Dean…”

“Oooo is he hot?” Anna butts in and Cas gives her a look. She mimes zipping her lips.

“Anyway and… he’s really hot,” Cas blushes. Anna slaps a hand down on the table.

“I knew it! What does he look like? I want all the details!” she puts her fork down, propping her elbows on the table she gives Cas her full attention. Cas shakes his head. Sometimes Anna acted like an over-excited puppy.

“He’s got green eyes. Like crazy green eyes. And short hair, he’s taller than me and muscly, his damn biceps just,” he lifts up his own arm using it to show how much bigger Dean’s muscles are than his own, “he’s a mechanic. He’s got freckles, a lot of freckles. Not just on his face. They’re on his knuckles and his arms and  _ears._ And his voice! It’s deep and gosh he’s just so dreamy,” Cas swoons. Anna looks like she’s swooning too.

“Wait.” Anna sits up a little straighter in her chair, face serious. “Is he gay? Bisexual? ‘Cause if not…” she lets her sentence drift off.

“I think he’s bisexual. Sam mentioned him having a long-term girlfriend: Cassie and a couple of short flings. One being with a guy named Aaron.”

“Excellent! Caaaas I think you should go for it! Flirt! Have a little fun!” Anna slaps his arm, her smile back and brighter than ever.

“He’s twenty-eight,” Cas mumbles, shoving a forkful of greens in his mouth. After  _the incident with the banana_ Cas may have asked Sam, subtly, how much older Dean is than him. He was shocked to find out; ten years.

“What?” Anna leans forward, surprise on her face.

“He’s twenty-eight,” Cas repeats, meeting her sister’s gaze. “He’s older than you,” he points out.  _But not older than Balthazar_.

“Meh, we can work around that. It’s what... ten years. I’ve seen worse,” Anna shrugs. Cas just stares. He’s surprised at how well his sister is taking this. He’s glad, but shocked nonetheless. “Like what was mom and dad’s age gap? Fifteen? Twenty? I figure if they did it, you’re allowed to too.”

“Thanks Anna,” Cas smiles with a small smile.

***

Those emerald green eyes, the insanely long eyelashes and auburn freckles have Cas tossing and turning. He squeezes his pillow in frustration. Stupid Dean Winchester. Cas punches the bed. He rolls onto his back, ignoring the insistent throbbing between his legs. He will not stoop low enough to jerking off in his bed about that man. No way.

It’s shocking how little self-control Castiel possesses when the subject at hand is Dean Winchester. He bites his lip, trailing a hand over his erection, still confined in his boxers. His whole body twitches and he gasps at the soft touch and he moves his hand away like it’s been scalded. There really is only one thing to be done or he’s not going to get any sleep. He sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes.

Idly he traces a hand down his bare chest, rubbing his thumbs over his nipples. Reaching down he shucks off his boxers, lying naked atop his covers he lets himself wrap a hand around his cock, squeezing slightly he starts up a gentle rhythm.

Thighs flexing he lets himself just bask in the pleasure of touching himself. Of course, when he closes his eyes the first thing that comes to mind is Dean, sucking suggestively on that damn banana. Dean’s cheeks hollowing and he sucks it further into his mouth… Cas gasps, his strokes faltering for a moment. Abandoning his dick for the moment, he uses both his hands to gently roll his balls between his palms. He fondles them, his hips jerking upward and breath hissing between his teeth as he chokes on the pleasure.

Dean’s lips wrapped around the banana, shiny with spit…

Cas bites his lip, squeezing the base of his cock. Jesus Christ he’s only been at this for five minutes and he feels like he could come any second. Precome is spat from the head of Cas’ dick and he trails a finger through it, across the head and around the crown. He spreads it down his length, using it as lubrication for his hand. He uses one hand, thrusting up into his fist while the other slips lower, past his balls. He presses against his perineum moaning softly. He keeps going, tracing lightly over his hole he feels it flutter under his touch and he thinks about what it would feel like to have Dean’s cock buried, balls deep in his ass. It’d feel good. He knows it would, because it’s  _Dean._ But what about the opposite? Having Dean quivering under him as he thrusts into the tight heat of  _Dean’s_ ass?

Cas is trembling, his whole body wracked with shakes. He’s about to come and his thrusts get wilder, his hips lifting off the bed. Whimpers fall from his lips and he knows that later he’s going to ashamed. Falling apart. Fucking his hand. All because of one man: Dean fucking Winchester. But right now... Now, his cheeks are flushed and sweat beads at his brow. His breathing is harsh and audible in the otherwise quiet room. The only other sound is the slick slap of his cock in hand. Can feels his body growing taut, like a rubber band being stretched to the limit. His toes curl and squeezing his eyes shut he comes with a grunt and, “ _Dean,”_ on his lips, wetness spilling over his fist.

Cas milks himself through his orgasm. Come slicks his palm and Cas rolls off the bed, squatting down at the nightstand for tissues. He wipes off his palm, throwing the soiled tissues into the bin.

Satisfied, Cas collapses back into bed body loose and feeling completely blissed out. Fucking Dean Winchester.

*****DEAN*****

It seems like Dean’s just fallen into bed when he’s waking. Not because he wants to. Oh hell no, he’d gladly accept another two hours but because there is a noise. An annoying noise that just won't shut up. He opens his eyes and scowls at his phone, which is sitting silently on the nightstand.  _What the fuck is that noise?!_ Dean sits up, his irritation simmering in the pit of his gut. It’s shrill and damn loud. It takes a moment, but finally it registers to Dean. It’s the landline.

“SAAAAAM!” he roars, flopping back down and throwing a pillow over his head to drown out the noise.

As much as he’d like the extra couple hours, Dean finds himself rolling out of bed not two minutes after Sam presumably answers the phone. He trudges down the stairs still in a fowl mood.  _Stupid phone_. Sam stands in the kitchen, his back to Dean as he enters and heads for the coffeemaker.

“Yeah I thought so too…” Sam is babbling but Dean doesn’t really pay attention.

He needs coffee. But he is really not in the mood to deal with its shit right now. He plugs it in and hits the start button maybe a little too hard. Staring at it he waits. The gurgling starts and Dean just picks it up banging it once, twice and three times on the bench top. It begins working after that.

“What the hell Dean?” Sam shouts at him. Dean turns and Sam is holding the phone to his shoulder, muffling the receiver. Dean just glowers at him. “Dean’s just having a bitch fit. What were you saying?” Sam goes back to his conversation and Dean goes back to making his coffee. He tries not to eavesdrop, but it’s hard when Sam is literally  _right there. “_ I know right. Cas you seriously have to tell Jess. She’ll know what to do,” Dean perks up at the mention of Cas. He’s taken a liking to Sam’s new friend. Well, more than a liking.

Dean tiptoes over to his brother, sliding onto the counter beside Sam. He attempts to press his ear to the opposite side of the receiver. Sam glares at him, trying to elbow him away. “What are you doing?” Sam hisses, narrowing his eyes. Dean is crouched on his hands and knees atop the countertop. He just wants to hear Cas’ voice. The weirdly gravelly tone that has Dean’s toes curling. Dean remembers watching Castiel race from the kitchen, his cheeks resembling that of a tomato, Dean felt weirdly fond of the kid. He’s not oblivious to his stares. He knows Castiel's focus is on him when he walks in the room, even if Cas’ eyes aren’t on him. He knows Cas is watching him. He likes it. He likes the constant attention, the admiring. He likes stirring him up too. The banana gag was just too good to pass up and teasing Castiel is just too fun.

And fuck if those eyes don’t do things to him below the belt. So damn  _blue._ With his perpetual sex hair, those damn eyes and holy fuck don’t even get him started on the lips. The perfect little cupid’s bow. Dean’s caught himself thinking about exactly how those lips would look wrapped around his cock…

“No not you. Dean’s being weird.” Sam paces away from the counter, restricted by the cord connecting the hand piece to the wall. Dean follows but Sam kicks at him to keep him away. “Look Cas I gotta go, Dean is acting like a dick. I’ll see you at school. Bye.” Sam hangs up. “The hell is wrong with you?” he turns on Dean. Dean shrugs, acting innocent.

“Nothin’. So what’s Castiel doing ringing you this early in the morning?” Dean changes the subject. Sam’s eyes narrow further until Dean can barely see his irises.

“He had to clarify something.”

“What did he have to clarify?” Dean paces back over to the coffeemaker. It’s not brewed anything. “Piece of shit!” Dean slaps it away. So much for coffee on this absolutely shitty morning.

“Why do you want to know? You got a crush on him or something?” he can hear the accusation in Sam’s voice. Does he have a crush on Castiel? He will admit that he has some rather  _strong_  feelings towards the kid. “You do!” Sam cries. “Oh my God!”

Dean spins, “What? No! I never said anything!”

“And by not saying anything you confirmed my suspicions. Oh my God you like Cas. I should have seen this coming! You know about his crush on you, don’t you?” Sam runs his fingers through his hair, pacing across the kitchen. He looks two seconds away from a panic attack.

“He has a crush on me?” Dean really plays up the nonchalance. Of course Cas has a crush on him. He’s seen the constant blushing. The not looking him directly in the eye. The subtle rearranging of his pants whenever Dean walks into the room.

“Don’t play coy, Dean!  _Shit._  Jess is going to hit me. She called this. She called it  _weeks_ ago. Oh God I’m never going to hear the end of it!”

“Look… calm down, Sammy!” Dean shouts, exasperated.

“Calm down? Dean you are  _ten_ years older than he is! Ten! That’s not a small age difference. Oh my God. What are people going to think? Oh my God what about Cas?” Sam looks to be two seconds from pulling his hair out.

“Who cares about what other people think? They can keep their noses out of our goddamn business. And what do you mean what about Cas? What about him? I’d assume he’ll be delighted with this new turn of events,” Dean declares, sounding haughty. Sam glares at him. “What?!”

“Ten years is a long time.”

“I know that!”

“Do you even know how it is being a teenager these days? It’s different from when you were my age. There’s not so much physical bullying anymore. It’s more verbal and psychological. It can do some serious damage. And I know that you would never mean to do anything to hurt Cas, but can you imagine what people are going to say to him? About him?” Sam sounds like he’s soothing a wounded animal that could bite his hand off at any moment.

“You’re saying that if anything happens Cas is going to get shit from it?” Sam nods. “But what if he doesn’t? You don’t know what’s going to happen. If it does I’ll just grab the little twerp giving him a hard time and show them what happens to people who mess with the Winchester’s.” Sam sighs, throwing his hands up.

“You can’t  _do_  that Dean!”

“You know what? Fuck you Sam. Fuck you.” Dean heads out of the kitchen.  _Fuck Sam what does he know?_

“I’m just trying to help!” Sam calls after him. Dean ignores him, heading for his bedroom. Bobby’ll appreciate him arriving a bit early and Sam can find his own damn ride to school.

Sam’s words get him thinking though. Would people really treat Cas badly because of him? Dean has to physically stop working as he mules his next thought over. What if people think he’s some sort of paedophile out to get Castiel? He squeezes the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut. What is he doing? How did he turn out so sick? Gritting his teeth, he pushes those thoughts to the side. He hasn’t _done_ anything yet.

“WINCHESTER! Stop slacking off!” Bobby shouts at him from across the garage. It snaps Dean out of his mood.

“Sorry Bobby!” He calls, pasting on a fake smile.

“Idgit.”

Dean adjusts his jumpsuit. There’s no use beating himself down. It’s not like he’s lusting after some twelve year old. Castiel has shown some genuine interest in him. And isn’t Cas a consenting adult in the eyes of the law now, anyway? Dean pops the hood of some pretentious douchebag’s Prius who doesn’t know how to change the oil in his dumb car. Dean comes to a conclusion. He’s not going to force himself on Castiel. If Cas makes a move, then who’s Dean to push him away? But he’s determined not to be some sick fuck who gets his rocks off on terrorising children.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried writing heterosexual smut for the first time. Don't laugh at it's terribleness. I tried. :P

*****SAM*****

He tries to stay quiet for as long as he can. He tries to let Dean and Cas work out their… feelings. But it’s eating him up inside. He just can’t stay quiet anymore! So he talks to Jess. Literally the only other person he talks to about his problems aside from Dean.

Dean is out and it’s a school night but that doesn’t stop him from having Jess stay over. He’s _such_ a rebel. Just the thought is laughable. He sits at his desk, swinging back and forth on his 'ergonomic' chair (Dean got it for under twenty bucks at Ikea because some idiot broke it in the store), a pencil in his hand even though he hasn’t written a single word in over an hour. Jess is presumably on Tumblr on his laptop. His reasoning: the only movement she’s made in the past two hours is a steady scroll with two fingers. She stares at him now. “Ok spill. What’s up?” she closes the screen, inching across the bed so she can swing her legs off the end.

Sam sighs, throwing the pencil down on the desk. He rubs his eyes wearily. “Dean.”

“What did he do now?” Jess rolls her eyes, smirking.

“He’s not talking to me. I kind of flipped at him the other day,” Sam utters.

“Why?”

“Don’t hit me. But you know Cas’ crush?” Sam watches her as the realisation hits. Her eyes go wide, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline and her smirk grows into a full out grin.

“Sam! Why didn’t you tell me? This is great!” She springs up, clapping her hands like a toddler just promised ice-cream.

“No. It’s not. Just because Dean presumably likes Cas too is not _great_.”

“Yeah it is! It’s adorable,” Jess paces back and forth. He really doesn’t know what he expected by telling Jess. In the back of his mind he knew this was going to happen but he just wanted to hope that she saw this the same way as he does. “Now all we have to do is get them together. Shouldn’t be too hard,” Jess is pensive. Sam can see the cogs turning over in her head. She is dead serious about this.

“Jess…”

“Shush! I’m trying to think. Maybe we could abandon them in a room together. Or we could ditch them at the movies… yes that might work. Or…”

“JESS! No. We have to just leave them be and if they don’t work it out themselves then its just too bad. We can’t meddle!” Sam argues, trying desperately to get her to see reason.

“Urgh! Fine. You know sometimes I really hate it when you’re the reasonable one,” Jess plops down on his lap, pouting. Sam rolls his eyes, lacing his arms around her waist.

“Well one of us has to be,” he murmurs, leaning in an peppering soft kisses to her neck.

“True. But it doesn’t stop it from being any less aggravating,” Jess tilts her head to the side, her eyes fluttering shut. Sam hums his agreement.

“But you love me anyway,” he whispers in her ear. Jess’ eyes spring open and she grins.

“Also true,” she replies, tucking his bangs behind his ears. “You need a haircut,” she notes, running her fingers through his hair.

“I thought you liked my hair long?” Sam pouts, staring at her feigning hurt. She rolls her eyes.

“I do! But Sam it’s almost touching your shoulders,” comments Jess, letting her fingers map over his face. She traces his cheekbones with her thumbs, his jaw with her forefingers.

“Mmm fine,” Sam hooks his arms under her butt, hoisting her up. Taking the two steps to the bed he gently lays her down, just taking a moment to appreciate how damn lucky he is to have a girl as amazing as Jessica Moore.

“You just going to stare at me like a creeper all day or what?” Jess smirks, pillowing her hands under her head. Sam gives her a rue smile, sliding his hands up her waist whilst settling between her legs. Carefully, Sam rucks her tee shirt up, Jess pushing off the bed so he can pull it over her head, exposing her floral printed bra. Sam eyes it for a moment. The pink and orange flowers that adorn it are kinda cute.

“I like this,” he murmurs, running a fingertip along the underwire. Jess wriggles, unhooking the clasp behind her back and Sam marvels as her breasts are slowly revealed. Jess flings the bra at him, the cups smacking him in the face.

“Good to know,” she mutters, relaxing back into the bed. With a pout Sam leans down claiming her lips with his. With slightly trembling hands he smooths them over her breasts softly cupping them in his palms. Jess grabs his face, pulling him closer as she deepens the kiss, her tongue swirling into his mouth. He moans lightly, his hands reflexively squeezing tighter, making Jess gasp. He can feel her nipples hardening slightly under the roughness of his palms.

Pulling back, Sam allows a self-satisfied smirk to grace his face. Jess is flushed, a slight pink painting her neck and chest. Arching his back, he nuzzles down between her breasts, slowly moving over to the left her takes her nipple into his mouth.

Jess makes a slightly surprised, “Oh,” her hands lacing into his hair. They tighten into fists as he gently worries the bud between his teeth before laving his tongue against the puckered flesh. Jess moans and arches into the touch. Sam takes this as encouragement, moving over to the other breast. “Sam,” Jess whimpers, his legs sliding up to squeeze against his sides. “Please.” His hard on almost throbs where it’s confined in his jeans. He ignores it in favour of making Jess feel good.

Sam is just about to reply when the front door slams open with an ear splitting CRACK as it smacks into the wall. Sam bolts upright, hurrying to retrieve Jess’ clothes. His erection dies in his panic.

“SAM?!” Dean’s voice calls down the hall, followed by heavy footsteps towards Sam’s room. He casts a panicked look at Jess, who is just throwing her shirt over her head. Her cheeks are still flushed and her hair is mussed. It doesn’t take an idiot to realise what they were doing. Oh well.

Dean bursts into the room looking ragged. Sam frowns at him, eyes taking in the wind swept hair and the wide bloodshot-eyed look. His clothes are almost haphazard and a fresh bruise adorns his eye. “Dean? What the hell?” Sam cries, moving to shield Jessica from his lunatic of a brother. Dean says nothing; he just stares intently at Jess for a moment before his eyes move to Sam. He looks Sam dead in the eye, before he gives his younger brother a once over. His face completely barren of emotion. Then, just as suddenly as he arrived, he leaves, leaving the door ajar in his wake.

“What the hell?” Jess asks exactly what Sam is thinking.

*****CASTIEL*****

Cas notices a change in Jessica. She isn’t less talkative or really any _different._ But he’s noticed her giving him these _looks._ Like she knows something and she’s pleased. It’s weird. It’s almost like she’s being secretive and keeping something from him. What that ‘something’ is, Cas doesn’t know and he’s not sure he even wants to know.

After school Cas decides to ask Sam if he’s noticed the change in Jessica. Him being her boyfriend after all. Cas waits until he is immersed in digging through the stacks of DVD’s, CD’s and video games. Cas is sprawled on the threadbare couch, he picks at the frayed edge. Clearing his throat he gets Sam’s attention, who tilts his head to the side raising an eyebrow.

“Have you… noticed a change in Jessica’s personality? I feel she’s acting more… I don’t know, secretive,” he says as nonchalantly as he can, keeping his head bent downwards. Cas is suspicious at the way Sam jerks so violently at his words that the game in his hands drops to the floor.

“Wh-why would you think that?” Sam asks, his voice raising an octave. Cas shrugs, lifting his gaze to meet Sam’s. Sam swallows, looking away quickly.

“She looks at me weirdly now. Did I do something?” Cas asks, suddenly riddled with worry. Jessica and Sam are good friends. Loyal friends. He thinks back over the past week. What has he done differently to warrant a change in Jessica’s persona? _Nothing._ He can’t think of anything. He hasn’t done anything differently. He hasn’t strayed from his routine. He’s literally done nothing differently. Cas laces his hands in his lap; he’s picked a hole in the frayed couch. He looks away guiltily.

“Wanna play _Halo_?” Sam changes the subject, shifting awkwardly.

***

Cas gets his ass handed to him. Sam has had plenty of practise at the game. But with the way Cas has lived, he’s never had anything like _Halo._ He’s spent most of his life being ignored by his parents and as a result immersing himself into the fictional worlds of books or entertaining himself somehow. Now, he studies and cleans up after his brother.

Not that he minds. Castiel enjoys spending time with Sam and it amuses him when Sam gets frustrated at how utterly useless he is at the game. “Jesus Cas, are you even trying?” Sam throws down the controller. He stretches his lanky body across the floor. He’d been sitting hunched over on the floor, leaning his back against the couch as he concentrated on the game.

“Keep in mind the only time I’ve played this game is in your company,” Cas points out, picking up one of the magazines from the coffee table in front of him. He rolls it into a tube before lightly tapping Sam on the back of the head with it.

“Ok, whatever. But still it isn’t a hard game,” Sam concedes, choosing a new mode on the game. “Let’s try this.”

“What are you complaining about now?”

Cas freezes, his heart picking up speed in his chest. Dean launches himself over the back of the couch; landing sprawled in the space beside Cas. His hands tighten on the controller to get his trembling under control.

“Cas sucks at _Halo,”_ Sam bitches, eyes still on the TV screen.

“I don’t _suck,”_ Cas protests weakly. It’s true. He does suck, but admitting it while Dean is in the room is embarrassing.

“Well the game’s shit. That’s why. I bet the only reason you make him play it is because he’ll whoop your ass in everything else,” Dean counters. Cas’ heart actually stutters a step. Did Dean just _defend_ him? What is the world coming to? Cas risks a peak at him. Dean as one hand resting against the back of the couch, his fingers rest a scant few inches from Cas’ shoulder. He does _not_ get excited about the fact that they are almost _touching._ Butterflies flip-flop in his stomach and the back of his neck itches. Surreptitiously glancing at Dean again, he sees the older Winchester staring intently at him. He jerks, blushing profusely, eyes swinging back to Sam, who is still concentrating on setting up the game. He hears Dean chuckle and his blush deepens until his ears feel like they’re actually burning.

Cas notices the dark purpling bruise ringing Dean’s eye. He wonders what would create a bruise like that. A fist? Cas doesn’t know what kind of bruise a fist would make. Why would someone punch Dean in the face? He watches Dean out of the corner of his eye. The bruise is almost directly opposite a few scratches on his cheekbone. They’re mostly healed and have scabbed over. Maybe he got them working at the garage? It seems the kind of place one would pick up slight injuries such as a black eye. Well, Cas thinks so anyway.

“Fine then! We’ll play something else,” Sam harrumphs, ejecting the disk. “What do you want to play, Cas?”

“I don’t really—,” his words don’t come out any louder than a whisper, but it doesn’t matter because he’s interrupted by the shrill ringing of Sam’s phone. Sliding it from the coffee table, Sam ambles to his feet, hitting the ‘accept’ button; he casts a look at Dean and then Cas before scooting out of the room.

Dean and Castiel sit in silence. Dean picks at the grease caught under his fingernails while Cas sits rigidly beside him. At a glance it would seem that Dean doesn’t even notice Cas is there. But, as soon as Sam is gone from the room, Dean slumps down further, his bicep brushing Cas’ shoulder and he stays like that. That one point of contact. Cas bites his lip trying to not let on how affected he is by the slight touch.

“So. Cas,” Dean starts, sounding amicable. Cas swallows, raising his eyes slowly to Dean, his lip still caught between his teeth. “I—,” Dean trails off, his eyes getting snagged on Cas’ lips. Cas releases his lip, swiping his tongue over the area he’d been nibbling on. Dean seems to snap out of his haze, clearing his throat. He cards the hand that isn’t brushing up against Cas through his hair, making it stick up slightly, like a disgruntled hedgehog. Cas suppresses the urge to smooth it back down again. “Ah… How’d you find yourself in South Dakota? Sam says you’re originally from Illinois,” Dean adopts a devil-may-care attitude, cocking his head to watch Cas.

Cas fumbles trying to get his thoughts in order to even reply to the enquiry. “My parents. We had to—to move. Because my parents um…” Cas squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories of Anna’s anguished wails of grief. Distant relatives trying to be comforting but in reality just making everything worse with their faux sympathy. His heart aches and all he wants to do is curl up in a ball and cry.

“Hey, it’s ok, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Dean says gently, placing a hand around Cas’ wrist. He squeezes slightly and Cas freezes at the feel of Dean’s calloused palm on his skin. He relaxes after a second, nodding. He swallows down the dryness in his throat. He’d die of humiliation if he broken down in tears now.

Cas opens his mouth to speak but Dean closes the space between them. He pauses a breath away, his lips mere centimetres from Cas’. Cas goes rigid, holding his breath. He can feel Dean’s breath on his lips. If only he moved just _that_ much closer. Cas’ eyes flutter shut. Is this really happening right now? “Tell me you want this, Cas,” Dean whispers, a pleading note in his voice. Cas’ eyes spring open. He stares into Dean’s eyes. He’s so close; Cas can see the tiny flecks of gold amongst the green in his irises framed by eyelashes Anna would kill for. Dean watches him, completely still and finally, Cas nods ever so slightly.

Castiel closes the gap between them, sealing their lips together. Dean’s lips are soft but insistent. Cas melts. Kissing Dean is simultaneously everything and nothing like he imagined. It’s the best feeling. A strong hand cups his jaw, a thumb rubbing just below his ear. Cas leans into that hand. He can’t help but moan a little at the brush of Dean’s tongue across his bottom lip. He hesitantly parts his lips and then Dean’s tongue is attacking his. It feels like Dean is the only thing tethering him down or else he’d be amongst the clouds floating on euphoria.

As far as first kisses go, Cas thinks this one is pretty good. He pulls back, his cheeks a bright shade of crimson. He ducks away from Dean, his lips still tingling. Dean’s hand is still on Cas’ jaw and it stays there until Cas looks at him. Dean has a small smile on his face, his lips seem plumper and Cas feels another blush heat his cheeks at the thought of what his lips must look like.

“You’re adorable when you blush,” Dean murmurs, a finger tracing over Cas’ cheekbone, presumably chasing the colour there. Cas bites his lip again. “Jesus fuck every time you do that makes me want to just lean over and kiss you,” Dean grumbles, staring at Cas’ lips.

“So why don’t you?” Cas asks, softly. It’s supposed to sound flirty but Cas wouldn’t know how to flirt if his life depended on it. He watches Dean’s reaction, the dilating of his pupils and the quick dart of tongue across his lip.

Dean leans down again, pressing his lips hard against Cas making him gasp. This time it’s quick, hard and fast. Leaving Cas breathless. Arousal stirs in the pit of his stomach. His cock half hard in his jeans. Cas isn’t game to glance down and see if Dean is just as affected. Dean chuckles, pulling away completely and Cas is at a loss. Is he dreaming? Did this seriously happen? He and Dean _kissed_? He has the urge to pinch himself but that would be weird and he doesn’t want to look weird in front of Dean.

“Oh my God! Dean! Cas! Urgh guys come on!” Sam is standing at the doorway to the living room. His phone is hanging in his hand; Cas can still see the red _end call_ button on the screen. Dean laughs, loudly and it makes Cas smile, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“What Sammy?” Dean turns to him, his eyes crinkling and his mouth stretched in a wide grin showing his teeth. Cas feels himself swooning a little looking at Dean smiling. He has such a nice smile.

“Urgh!” Sam storms into the room, flopping down on his spot on the floor. Cas blushes again. He didn’t think about how Sam would take… this. He scoots away from Dean a little but all that succeeds in doing is making the older Winchester pout and bodily maneuverer him back over close to Dean. He gets tucked against Dean’s side an arm thrown around his shoulders and Cas finds that he doesn’t mind. Not one little bit.


	7. Chapter 7

*****DEAN*****

Dean is in a good mood for days after. It seemed that no matter what life threw at him, nothing could rain on his parade. That is, until Sam started with the questions.

“What happened to your face?” he asks after a dinner of mac and cheese Dean whipped up. Dean ignores him, shovelling another mouthful of the gooey food into his mouth. “Dean?” _He’s not going to drop it. Fucking kid._ Dean thinks to himself bitterly. He knows there’s no way he’s going to tell Sam the truth. That someone stole the cash--someone fucking pick pocketed him, who even does that?!-- he picked up after a night out. Pride beat the shit out of him when Dean came crawling back to the store. Of course the bastard didn’t believe him. He accused Dean of using it for himself. Dean swears if he catches the punk, they won’t live to see another day. He’s thankful Sam can’t see the _other_ bruises.

“Slipped in the shower,” he lies.

“Uh huh,” Sam replies, obviously not believing the lie for a second. “Are we going to talk about your little spaz attack the other day?” Sam chomps absently at his mac.

“Nope,” Dean’s tone leaves no room for argument. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the vivid memory of Pride holding his jaw tightly enough to bruise. Staring into Dean’s eyes with cold and impersonal words he threatened to rip out Sam’s throat and force Dean to watch as he writhed in agony if anything like this ever happened again. There is no way in _hell_ Sam is ever going to find out about that.

“Are we going to talk about you and Cas?” Sam gives him a stern look and Dean is reminded of the looks his parents used to give him, back when they were alive.

“What do you mean?” Dean swirls the pasta around in his bowl, trying to buy time.

“Don’t play dumb,” Sam scowls, setting his fork down. “He’s my friend and…”

“Yeah, yeah if I hurt him blah, blah, blah I know the drill, Sam,” Dean growls, stabbing viciously at a sliver of cheese stuck to the bottom of his bowl. Sam is silent, forcing Dean to look up and meet what has to be Sam’s most scathing bitchface of them all. “What now?!”

“Don’t make a joke out of this, Dean,” Sam glares and Dean’s eyes widen. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“Geez! I’m not. Calm your crap. I really like the guy and as far as I know, he likes me back. I’m not going to go out of my way to hurt him,” Dean says earnestly. Sam glares at him for a moment longer before he relents with a sigh.

“Ok. I believe you.”

“Actually. I was thinking about taking him out…” Dean lets the sentence trail off. Sam instantly perks up.

“Like on a date?” He leans forward eagerly. Dean nods, warily. “Where? What are you going to do?” Sam presses.

“I don’t know! It was just an idea. Jesus Sam,” Dean stands, bringing his bowl over to the sink. He hears Sam’s chair screech over the linoleum and Sam’s at his side instantly.

“You’ve got a plan though. You don’t just half ass things. I know you. Tell me!” Sam insists, plonking his bowl down next to Dean’s.

“What so you can go tell Cas? I don’t think so,” Dean snorts and Sam gives him another bitchface.

“I would not,” he says haughtily.

“No you’d just tell Jess and _she’d_ tell Cas. I’m not stupid, Sam.” He exits the kitchen, heading for the living room. Dr Sexy starts in ten minutes and he’s determined not to miss this week’s episode.

He’s just relaxed into his armchair when Sam throws himself over the back of the couch, landing with a soft thud on the sofa cushions. “Tell me,” he demands. Dean glares at him, pointedly switching on the TV. “ _Dean_ ,” Sam adopts a deeper tone.

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean mimics, making the younger Winchester scowl. “Go away. Don’t you have homework to do or something?” Sam grumbles but gets up, disappearing into his bedroom leaving Dean in the company of Dr Sexy and the nurses. He settles in for an hour of melodrama and cheesy goodness.

***

Dean stealthily nicks Cas’ number from Sam’s phone. It glares up at him from the small screen. Dean knows that for them to go on a date he has to actually _invite_ Cas on that date. He’s been on plenty of dates. So why has an eighteen year old boy got him feeling slightly sick with nervousness?

He’s hiding out in the small bathroom at Singer’s. He leans against the wall opposite the door, in case anyone was to walk in and see him. Dean thumbs over the contact. He brings up the messages, the small keyboard hovering at the bottom of the screen. He types out a text.

**> Hey Cas. Was wondering if u wanted 2 go out sometime? -Dean**

He stares down at the sentence like it’s the single most important thing in his life. Should he send it? Cas would be in school right now. Dean wouldn’t want Cas to get into any trouble if his phone goes off in class...  _Fuck it._ He hits send and watches as the little bubble forms his first text. After almost ten nauseating minutes of waiting his phone dings with a reply.

**> Sure. What do you have in mind? C.N.**

A little zing of excitement goes through him and Dean thumbs out his reply.

**> A surprise. I’ll call u l8r**

Cas’ next reply is almost instantaneous.

**> :(** **Tease.**

Dean tucks his phone back into his pocket, exiting the bathroom with a grin on his face and a load off his shoulders.

***

Dean spends the rest of the day thinking up ideas for his and Cas’ date. As he’s thinking, he realises that he know absolutely nothing about the boy. He gets that realisation whilst sitting in a ’64 Chevrolet Impala, fiddling with the wiring usually concealed behind the plastic under the steering wheel.

It hits him with a jolt and Dean has to sit back and just let the realisation sink in. He knows nothing about Cas other than what Sam’s told him or what he’s gleaned from the very few encounters with the kid. But that’s ok, isn’t it? The whole purpose of a date is to find out stuff about the other person. He’s still staring into space when Gallagher finds his way over to Dean.

“Yo Dean?” he asks, rounding the hood of the car. “Dean? Hey!” He smacks his hand against the door of the car to get Dean’s attention.

“What?” Dean asks, turning to him.

“Singer told me to tell you to stop daydreaming. Says he’s been watching you staring off into space for the last ten minutes,” Gallagher gestures over his shoulder with a thumb. Dean shakes his head, trying to clear it before hooking back into work. “So,” Gallagher leans against the side of the old car. Dean cocks an eyebrow at him. “What’s got you all airy fairy today?”

“Nothin’,” Dean mutters, scootching down in the seat to grab the screwdriver that had conveniently rolled onto the floor by his feet.

“Liar. Tell me.” Dean looks incredulously up at the other man.

“When did you get so nosy? Don’t answer that. You’re always nosy,” Dean snorts. Gallagher shrugs, not even denying it.

“I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me,” he crosses his arms over his chest.

“For fucks sake,” Dean mutters under his breath. He knows that Gallagher will stick to his word and probably trail behind Dean for the rest of the day if he doesn’t spill. “I’m trying to work out a date… with someone,” Dean clarifies.

“Oooo with who? Some hot lady with big?” he mimes breasts the size of cantaloupes. Dean snorts, rolling his eyes.

“You're a pig. And no. God no.”

“Some hot dude with a big?” he grabs himself through the jumpsuit.

“Andy!” Dean cries, shocked.

“So it is a dude. Awesome,” He grins at Dean who flushes bright red. _Why is this so damn awkward?_ “Right. So you wanna take him on a date. What does he like?” Gallagher says, completely seriously.

“I don’t know. I’ve only met him like a couple weeks ago,” Dean admits.

“Huh. Well I suggest you go somewhere nice. Not like a fancy restaurant because fuck if anyone around here can afford that shit. But like make it nice. Maybe go to that drive–in just outta town. Ooo! You know that hill, the one where people generally take their kids when its windy as shit out and they fly kites?” Gallagher slaps his hand in quick succession on the side of the car as his excitement grows.

“Yeah I know it. What about it?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“I heard, when it’s like a clear night, you can see like so many stars. Like hundreds of the little fuckers.” Gallagher raises his arms above his head. Dean decides not to burst his bubble about the size of the ‘little fuckers’. “Or I might have just been tripping major balls when I went there and you can’t see jack. But I’ll guarantee that no one else will be out there if you know what I mean,” he winks lewdly and Dean rolls his eye again.

“Thanks for the ideas.”

“GALLAGHER! Damn I sent you over there to get him to work and now you’re havin’ a chinwag too!” Bobby bellows from the open window of his office. Gallagher makes himself scarce after that and Dean now knows exactly where he wants to take Cas on their first date.

***

“You’re not taking me out here to kill me are you?” Cas asks somewhat timidly from the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean wasn’t aware that’s how this must look. Driving out of town, big black car, nobody around. _Shit maybe this wasn’t such a good idea._

“No! No nothing like that,” he quickly reassures the boy, shooting him a smile.

“So where are we going then, if you aren’t going to kill me?” Cas smiles shyly.

“Nah not telling. It’s a surprise,” Dean grins back. Cas gives him a little pout and Dean feels himself relaxing up. Most of the awkwardness has faded and in its place is friendly banter. Dean prays that that awkwardness won’t return.

He parks at the bottom of the hill and they just stare out the windshield for a moment. Cas has a furrowed brow and his eyes swivel anxiously, checking his surroundings. Once again, the butterflies are recruiting in his stomach and Dean doesn’t know what to say. Should he just tell Cas what the plan is?

“Um… I’ve got everything set up, up there,” Dean points up the hill.

“Great,” Cas gives Dean a small smile and hops out of the car. Dean follows, meeting Cas around the hood. After a moment’s hesitation, Dean reaches out and grabs Cas’ hand. It’s smaller than his, but by just a little, and it’s softer. His palms and fingertips aren’t calloused from years of working in mechanics. Dean likes it. He watches and waits for Cas to pull his hand free. But he doesn’t. He just blushes and looks away shyly and Dean finds it endearing.

With a tug, Dean leads Cas up the hill. He went through the trouble of preparing a picnic of sorts, under the stars. From the top of the hill there is a nice view of the city, all the bright lights and bustling life. Out here, its just fair enough away to be quiet and peaceful. Cas gasps when he sees the little setup. The blanket spread on the ground, mock oil lanterns light the space and a wicker basket sits, their meal inside.

“Wow, Dean,” Cas gushes, looking up at him, sincerity shining in his blue eyes.

“You like it?” Dean asks, not realising how much he wanted Cas's approval on his date until now.

“Yes. It’s very nice. I can see you put a great deal of thought into this,” Castiel nods, giving Dean’s hand a squeeze.

“Well ah… shall we sit?” Dean gestures to the blanket and Cas folds himself down, tucking his legs under himself while Dean sprawls across the blanket.

“I have never been up here before. It’s beautiful,” Castiel gazes out over the small outcropping of trees over Dean’s shoulder and then up at the stars. Just like Andy said, you can see hundreds of twinkling stars in the sky.

“Really?” Dean folds his arms behind his head, lying back on the rug, he can feel the hem of his shirt rucking up exposing a sliver of his waist.

“N-no,” Cas stutters, his eyes getting caught on the bare skin. Dean can’t help but smirk at Cas’ blunder.

“C’mere,” Dean holds one arm out and hesitating Castiel makes is way to Dean’s side in small increments, as if he were waiting for Dean to yell ‘kidding!’ Cas lies down next to Dean and he tucks the younger boy close to his side, letting Cas rest his head against Dean’s shoulder.

They lay in blissful silence, just gazing up at the stars. There’s nobody around for miles. Nobody to interrupt. And Dean just lets himself relax into the comfort of being near Castiel.

They talk about trivial things, Cas’ classes, Dean’s job at the garage, Sam and Jess, Anna, favourite foods, movies and songs. It’s easy and Dean’s glad that the awkwardness is gone.

Dean cracks open the picnic basket, bringing out the snacks he thoughtfully packed. They aren’t the healthiest of snacks. He finds himself smirking at what Sam would think, feeding Cas Hershey’s drops and beer but what the hell? It’s a date.

***

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs, turning his face to look into Dean’s eyes.

“For what?” Dean asks.

“This. Nobody’s ever done… anything like this before,” Castiel admits, ducking his head. Dean frowns, propping himself up on an elbow. He faces Castiel.

“What? You’ve never been on a date?” Cas shakes his head and Dean gapes. “Seriously?”

“No. People seem to think I’m… weird. They think I talk funny, more eloquently than I should. I’ve kind of got a bad reputation thanks to my family. My brother wasn’t particularly… good. He’s done some regrettable things that have reflected on us. Anna and I. I’m also pitied a fair amount. But it’s fine. I don’t mind,” Cas sits up, crossing his legs. He picks at the threads in the blanket, not looking at Dean. As he talked his voice got quieter and quieter giving off the impression that he doesn’t really talk about his family often. Dean doesn’t know whether he should feel honoured that Cas is sharing with him or concerned for the kid who’s obviously had a hard life.

“That’s crap! You’re a good person. Why should you be cast in the shadow of the shit storm your brother created? It’s not fair,” Dean cries, slapping the blanket beneath him in indignation.

“Dean…” Cas begins, somewhat sadly.

“No Cas. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. You don’t deserve that. You deserve to have people falling all over you, flirting with you, going on dates, getting laid. You’re beautiful. You—,” Dean breaks off. _Did I really just say that out loud? Shit._ He blushes and finds that Cas is blushing too, his cheeks heating under the warm glow from the lamps.

“You think I’m beautiful?” He asks, shyly.

“Well… yeah. Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Dean tries to play it off with a joke. Cas’ flush deepens and he smiles a little to himself.

“I think you’re beautiful too,” Cas admits, quietly. With Cas’ words of confession Dean is taken by the impulse to kiss him. To show Cas just how highly Dean thinks of him. Without putting too much thought into it, Dean leans up, pressing his lips to Cas’. In an instant, Cas is kissing him back in his shy, slightly hesitant but endearing way. Dean is finding himself getting addicted to kissing Castiel.

Pushing himself up onto his knees, Dean frees up his hands to cup Cas’ face, he rests his thumbs over Cas’ cheekbones, brushing at the soft skin. His eyes flutter shut and he loses himself in the kiss. With a small noise of pleasure Cas swipes his tongue along the seam of Dean’s lips, a request to deepen their kiss and who is Dean to deny?

Cas tastes like chocolate and Dean chases the flavour on Cas tongue before sucking on his bottom lip. Pulling back, his heart is fluttering and he feels giddy. One look at Cas tells Dean he’s feeling the same way.

“You are a really good kisser,” Cas whispers, sneaking in another peck at Dean’s lips. Dean chuckles, leaning back, his hands retracting from Cas’ face.

“You aren’t too bad yourself.”

They sit in silence, only broken by a poorly disguised yawn from Cas. Dean checks his watch, shocked to find that the time is edging close to midnight. “Shit. I’d better get you home.” Dean jumps up, holding a hand down to Castiel, who takes it allowing Dean to pull him up. They pack away the picnic before walking back down the hill, hand in hand.

The drive back to Cas’ place is silent and when Dean pulls up he jumps out, rounding the hood before Cas has a chance to get out. He holds the door open for Cas and walks him to the door. Dean takes him through their building all the way to Castiel’s front door.

“You’re _such_ a gentleman,” Cas rolls his eyes, grinning.

“I try,” Dean winks and Cas giggles. The curtain in the window by the door flutters and Dean looks between it and Cas, raising an eyebrow. “If I kiss you goodnight, Anna won’t have my hide?” Cas chuckles, standing up not his tiptoes to press his lips to Deans’. Dean laces his arms around Cas’ waist, pulling him close. The kiss is sweet and over way too quickly for Dean’s liking. “I’ll call you? Or…?” Dean scratches the back of his neck, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“I’m sure we are going to see each other again. Sam and I have become quiet good friends,” Cas points out. “But I would not mind if you called me.”

“Great. Um… bye then.” Dean shuffles away from the door, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Good night Dean.”

*****CASTIEL*****

“Tell me all about it,” Anna demands not two seconds before Castiel is in the door. In fact, he’s pretty sure Dean heard the demand.

“Are you not even going to let me remove my coat first?” Castiel cocks an eyebrow. Anna taps her foot and crosses her arms while Castiel hangs his coat on the hook by the door, purposely taking his time doing the menial task.

“Castiel!” Anna whines making the youngest Novak sibling grin.

“Ok! Fine.” Cas holds his hands up. They head to the living room and Castiel chooses to sit in an armchair while Anna takes the couch. “He drove me out to this hill and at the top Dean had set out this picnic with lanterns and candy and the _view_. Anna the view was amazing, all the lights from the city way down at the bottom. And the stars, you can see so many. It’s so different from looking up at the sky here. You can see so much more,” Castiel gushes, thinking back on his date with Dean. Anna rests her chin on her palms, blinking slowly, a blissful smile on her face.

“It sounds romantic,” she says. Castiel nods in agreement.

“It was. He was nervous at the beginning, I think he was second guessing himself. But after a few minutes everything was fine. We talked and Dean’s just… perfect,” Cas blushes.

“That’s adorable, Castiel,” Anna pats his knee. “But, is he a good kisser?” she asks with a sly grin.

“Anna!” Cas exclaims.

“What? It’s a valid question!” Anna crosses her arms. Cas looks away, trying to keep the smile from his face. Dean is. He so is but Anna can’t know that. “He is!” Anna claps in glee.

“I never said anything!” Cas shouts, jumping up.

“You didn’t have to it was written all over you face,” Anna points, cackling to herself. Cas flushes. _This is so embarrassing!_

“Oh—,” Anna is cut off by the front door banging open and dull thuds as someone uses the walls for support. Castiel sighs, rubbing his eyes. Balthazar’s home.

Both Anna and Castiel head to their brother’s aid. Reaching out tentatively, Anna tries to help him through the hall. Castiel can see he’s still stoned. The dilated pupils and the soft muttering the only two physical signs Cas can see. He glances behind him every few seconds and his muttering grow louder, but no more intelligible. Cas assumes he’s still hallucinating. _Great._

_“_ Come on, Balthazar, lets get you into bed,” Anna guides him into the living room. Castiel keeps a sharp eye on his brother. He’s been known to act violently without provocation and he wants to be the one receiving the blows, not Anna. Balthazar twitches and glares at Anna. He yanks his arm from her grip, stumbling a step away from her.

“Don’t TOUCH ME,” he screams, spit flying from his mouth.

“Ok. Come to bed. Come on,” Anna keeps her voice level although Cas can see the slight tremor in her hands. Balthazar turns his glare on Castiel, who meets it with a glare of his own. Balthazar grunts, shuffling away from them both. Castiel is still tense, waiting for something to happen. Anna however, relaxes. It’s short lived.

Balthazar jerks, his spine straightening and a millisecond before he spins, Cas is in front of Anna catching the fist Balthazar throws. It hits his cheekbone, throwing him off balance and tumbling into Anna. She curls her arms around his bicep, clinging to him. They hold each other upright. Balthazar yells at them. Profanity spills from his lips and Castiel turns on him, his cheek throbbing.

“Go to bed, Balthazar,” he orders, his voice hard as steel. In a moment of clarity, Balthazar actually looks remorseful for what he just did. He looks between Cas and his still clenched fist.

“Cassy, I, he said… Anna,” the words make no particular sense and right now Cas doesn’t give a shit about what he’s trying to say. Cas is furious, he wants to hit his brother. Pound his face until its completely unrecognisable. But he won’t. Instead, he will act like a carer and protect his sister from the monster before them.

“Now Balthazar.”

Without another word, he leaves the room, thudding against the walls as he does so. The bedroom door slams shut behind him and Cas prays that that’s the last they see of him for the night.

Turning, Cas gently prods at his bruised cheek. Anna has tears in her eyes and holding out her arms, Cas hugs her. “I’m sorry, Cas,” she sobs, squeezing him tight.

“It’s not your fault,” he replies, his anger simmering down, his focus drawn to his sister.  “It’s late. You’ve got work in the morning and I have school.” He steps back, faking a yawn. Anna nods, wiping away her tears.

“Ok. Goodnight Castiel.” Cas watches as she tiptoes down to her bedroom. He listens for the click of the lock, only satisfied when he’s sure his sister is safe.

With a growl, Cas stalks down to the bathroom, flicking on the light he eyes the redness and swelling on his face. What is he going to tell everyone? Sam and Jess are obviously going to ask questions. He can’t tell them his meth head of a brother clocked him in the face. _I’m going to have to lie._ He sighs. Flicking off the light, he trudges back to his room. The buzz from his date with Dean has well and truly fizzled out and is replaced with a bone deep weariness that Cas has come to accept. He sometimes thinks how much better off their lives would be if the hospital called and told them Balthazar had ODed and died. At least then they didn’t have to worry about him coming home and destroying the house or bashing them bloody. Castiel rolls over, pushing all thoughts from his mind. He knows if he continues to think about that he’ll never get any sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm suffering from writer's block ;( There may not be an update for a while but I promise I will finish this fic.


	8. Chapter 8

*****SAM*****

Dean was in a disgustingly good mood after his date with Cas. Yet he wouldn’t spill any of the details about what happened.

At breakfast he still has a smile on his face and doesn’t even comment about the fact that the coffee machine refused to work.

Sam glared at him over his toast. It’s so weird seeing Dean this happy. “When are you going to tell me about your date?” he grumbles and Dean just grins at him.

“Never.” Sam gives him his best bitchface but even that doesn’t deter Dean from his good mood. “Seriously, Sammy? Why do you want to know so much anyway?” Dean asks, snagging a slice of toast from Sam’s plate and before he can argue takes a giant bite. Dean screws his nose up straight away and reluctantly swallows. Boysenberry jam isn’t that bad, Dean’s just a jerk.

“Because.”

“Because…” Dean gestures for him to go on. Sam’s eyes narrow. There is no way he’s going to tell Dean it’s because he wants ideas about where he can take Jess.

“Never mind,” he says glumly, pushing back from the table. He dumps his plate in the sink and retreats to get ready for school. He leaves Dean staring at the stolen piece of toast, a confused furrow between his brows.

***

Jess is waiting for him by the gates when Dean drops him off. She bounces up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smiles at her, taking in the cute braids her hair is tied into and the red and blue polka dot sundress. “You look pretty,” he compliments, tugging on a braid and Jess grins.

“Thank you! I can see you put a great deal of thought into your appearance today,” Jess tells him with a wry look. Sam dusts off his frayed jeans, pouting.

“Hey I brushed my hair today,” he tells her with an indignant huff.

Jess rolls her eyes, “Well at least that’s something. Hey is that Cas? Cas!” she waves over the dark haired boy. Sam turns greeting Cas with a smile.

“Hey.”

“Hello Sam, Jessica,” Castiel keeps his head turned towards the ground and Sam shoots a slightly worried look at Jess. She shrugs.

“How are you?” Jess asks, placing a hand on his arm.

“Fine. I’m fine,” Cas says, eyes still on the ground.

“Then why won’t you look at us?” Sam really does try to keep the accusation out of his voice. But Cas is acting suspicious on the day after his and Dean’s date.

Cas looks up. Sam’s eyebrows hit his hairline. There is a dark bruise adorning Cas’ left cheekbone. It’s swollen and looks painful. “Shit Cas. What happened?” Sam gasps. Jess squeaks, just as shocked as Sam is.

“I’m just clumsy,” Cas shrugs. Sam can hear the blatant lie but Cas is trying so damn hard to make him believe, that he doesn’t question it. Jess however has no qualms about telling Cas exactly what she thinks about the lie.

“Don’t lie to us. What happened?” She crosses her arms and looks pointedly at Cas.

“Was it Dean?” Sam interjects. Cas takes a step backward, clearly affronted.

“No! Of course not.”

“Dean would never do that,” Jess turns to Sam, crossing her arms. He puts his hands up in surrender.

“Well they did go on a date last night…”

“I—,” the bell cuts Cas off and he visibly relaxes, using it as an excuse to escape. He hurries off towards the school building. Jess frowns after him.

“I’m going to interrogate him in English,” she decides, lacing her fingers through Sam’s. They walk leisurely towards the school, falling in with the rest of the students.

“Of course you are,” Sam shakes his head and Jess nudges her shoulder against his.

*****DEAN*****

Dean’s still in a good mood that night, shrugging off the shit Andrea pulls when she’s unable to pay up. It seems that nothing can get him down. That is until he noticed his tail. It’s getting late, or well early the sun breaching the horizon, and he has two more junkies to get to, that’s obviously not going to happen now. Dean changes his plans and begins in the direction of his bike. Fuck those idiots who need their hit. He’ll get more shit from Pride if he’s caught than he’ll get from those meth heads.

Swearing under his breath he casts a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. Yup there is unmistakably someone following him. Picking up his pace Dean focussed on getting to his bike. He’s almost there when the figure calls out to him, “Stop! Police!” and he bolts. Dean hears a curse and the figure dashes after him. The cop is obviously in far worse shape than Dean, who can hear the other man’s breath sawing in and out of his lungs and his heavy boots clomping noisily as he gasps for breath on hot pursuit.

Flinging himself around the corner he practically throws himself onto the motorbike, shoving the helmet onto his head, kicking it to life he roars away. The figure is left standing on the sidewalk and Dean laughs. Stupid son of a bitch really thought he could catch Dean Winchester.

Dean barely has time to relax and start the commute to the store when he hears the sirens. “Fuck!” he yells, catching sight of the police car zooming up behind him, sirens wailing and lights flashing. Panic claws its way up Dean’s throat and he guns the engine, the Ducati propelling him through the streets. He weaves in and out through the traffic. Taking corners sharply enough to have Dean gripping the handlebars with whitened knuckles, the bike tipping dangerously close to the ground.

Dean leads them further into the city, far away from the craft store. He’d be skinned alive if he led them back there. He takes back alleys, circling blocks and pulls out all the stops in his endeavour to get those cops off his ass. Dean’s breathing hard and adrenalin pumps through his veins as he takes another tight corner. At this point he’s got no idea where he is he’s just got to get away.

Sirens still wail behind him and Dean’s starting to think that this is it. He’s done for. He throws a look over his shoulder, eyeing the police car right behind him. He turns back to the road and gasping, jerks the bike onto the sidewalk. He jolts and shudders in his seat as he gains control over the bike that tips and wobbles almost toppling over. A car idles right in front of him, stopped at a stoplight; he comes close to crashing into the row of stores as he rights himself again. Dean’s heart leaps in his chest in what has to be heart palpitations because this cannot be normal.

He knows it’s not the person’s fault but he feels furious none the less. If he weren’t in such a situation he’d be tempted to give them the bird.

Dean circles out of the city and onto the highway where, as early morning rush hour approaches. Up ahead all the commuters heading to work create hell for anyone in a hurry. It’s a traffic jam waiting to happen. Dean’s never been happier for rush hour traffic as he weaves in and out through the cars. He laughs as the cop car gets caught behind a bus and taxi, there being nowhere for them to pull over to let the cops pass. Dean feels like he’s finally got a chance to escape here.

Soon enough, he’s gained enough ground to turn around and head back into the city. He checks over his shoulder every few seconds, paranoid the police are going to appear out of nowhere and take him in. He slows down to a more appropriate speed, a couple notches lower than ‘breakneck’.

Dean’s not stupid. He knows he’s going to have to ditch the bike for a while and change the plates now that the cops have a read on it. With a heavy heart he locks his baby away in his emergency storage locker. Giving the bike one last pat he slams the roller door closed. Silently promising to come back and retrieve her in a couple months… or years. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and glaring at the ground, begins the couple mile trek to the craft store. Pride is going to be furious and Dean gulps at the thought of breaking the news to the man.

***

“You’re fucking shitting me,” Pride grins, new bottle of scotch in hand. Dean stands before him, standing at parade rest, his hands jittery where they rest behind his back as he waits for Pride to understand what he’s saying.

“No. I got away but they’re definitely looking for me. I bet there’s an APB out on me right now,” Dean responds.

“Fucking hell,” Pride takes a gulp of the scotch. “Well this isn’t good,” he states, surprisingly calmly considering the circumstances. It puts Dean on edge. Gulping, Dean pulls out the two remaining bags of meth he’d yet to sell. Pride eyes them, completely still. Dean notices the vein beginning to protrude on the man’s forehead and it’s that that tells Dean how absolutely furious he is. Dean clenches his teeth, waiting for the onslaught.

Pride stands and Dean has to physically stop himself from taking a step back. Pride goes over to his liquor cabinet, he grabs a glass and instead of drinking straight from the neck of his bottle, he pours the amber liquid into the glass. Turning back to Dean he drains the tumbler in one gulp, before staring into the empty glass. Dean relaxes again, but as Pride meets his eyes he reels his arm back, throwing the glass. Dean’s eyes widen and he drops to the ground just in time, the glass smashing into the wall behind him with a sharp bang. Standing Dean meets Pride’s eyes, burying the panic he feels deep, deep down. “I suggest you get out of here and make yourself scarce,” Pride tells him, his voice filled with barely contained rage. Dean leaves.

***

The walk back to their house takes just under half an hour and by that time it’s nearly seven thirty in the morning. Shooting a quick text off to Bobby Dean tells the old man he won’t be coming into work until late today. Stomach bug. He doesn’t really care if Bobby believes him or not. He just can’t come in right now.

He finds Sam sprawled on the couch again. Dean stops, watching his brother sleep. It’s like the dam inside him keeping everything he doesn’t want to deal with bursts open and its assaults him almost bringing him to his knees. Dean books it to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before he’s throwing up bile.

What is he doing? If he was caught he would have gone to jail! What would Sam do? He can’t survive on his own just yet. Dean’s got to take care of him. He’s just a kid. The cops are after him. He can’t keep doing this. Someone’s going to get hurt. What if Pride’s threats to hurt Sammy become more? What if he actually does something? Dean would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to his little brother. Sam is his responsibility.

A sob works its way up Dean’s throat. Slumping down by the toilet, Dean draws his knees to his chest, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Once the tears start flowing they don’t stop and Dean has to bite his fist to stay mostly silent. His throat burns with the effort to stop the sobs. He makes choking noises and his face feels warm. It’s been so long since Dean’s cried. He makes a point of being strong. Sam’s the one who shows his emotions, who talks about his feelings. He works things out, Dean just bottles everything up, puts on a brave face and soldiers on.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean croaks, wiping his eyes. The reality check hurt, but he needed it. If this keeps going on who knows what’s going to happen?

He stands and splashes some water onto his face. His reflection shows him with puffy and bloodshot eyes. Sam’s going to take one look at him and know he’s been crying.

With a growl, he stalks from the room. Fuck it. Carpe Diem or whatever they say. Dean heads downstairs to shake Sam awake and get him ready for school. Then he’s going to go to Singer’s. He might even text Cas. And he’s going to work this shit out. For himself.

***

Dean’s delighted to see Cas sitting at the dining room table, studying with Sam and Jess. He feels lighter, like a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying is lifted from his shoulders.

“Hey,” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. He curses the amount of grease still clinging to his hands.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel gives him that shy smile. Then Dean notices the bruise.

“What happened?” he demands, stalking up to Cas, he cups the boys face in his hands turning his head to inspect the fading bruise. Cas flushes and Dean ignores the snort from Sam. “Come with me.” He pulls Cas from his seat and leads him away from the other two teenagers.

Safely in Dean’s bedroom he turns to Cas. “Spill.”

Cas sighs, looking up at Dean, pleading with him to drop it. Like hell he’s going to drop it. Someone hurt Cas and there’s going to be hell to pay. Oh god what if it was one of Pride’s muscle? What if he was sending a message? “I’m clumsy. I tripped,” Cas lies, looking away. His eyes trail over Dean’s room. This is the first time Cas’ been inside his room, Dean realises.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Dean informs him and Cas sags.

“I know.”

“You going to tell me what really happened?” Dean’s voice softens and he takes Cas’ hands, the younger boy looks up at him and nods wearily.

“My brother hit me. It was an accident. He wasn’t thinking straight. _It’s nothing to worry about!_ ” He emphasises the last sentence. Dean sees red. His own _brother_ did this! What kind of fucked up son of a bitch hits his own family?

“Your _brother_?” Dean hisses hands tightening over Cas’. Cas flinches away. The anger fades in an instant when Dean notices Cas’ fear. He’d never do anything to hurt Cas. “Hey. It’s ok. I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you,” Dean promises Cas, who hiccups, trying to hide his tears. Dean tugs him close, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist. He presses his lips to Cas’ forehead. “You’re always welcome here, Cas. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he whispers against Dean’s neck, squeezing Dean tightly, relaxing in Dean’s embrace.

Dean wipes away Cas’ tears, giving him a reassuring smile. “You should probably wash your face or something in the bathroom before you go back out and face those two vultures,” Dean tells him. Cas nods, sniffling a little.

Turning, Cas goes to exit the room. He reaches for the door handle, before his fingers wrap around the brass knob he spins, flinging himself into Dean’s arms. He kisses Dean with more heat and emotion than Dean thought the teenager capable of. There’s no confusion about who’s in charge of the kiss. Cas forces his tongue between Dean’s lips, licking into Dean’s mouth. All Dean can do is hold the boy and try not to grind his painfully hard erection into Cas’ hip.

Pulling back, Cas gives him that shy smile. However, this time his eyes twinkle with mischief and Dean finds that he likes this new side of the boy. He leaves Dean panting and stupidly aroused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably quite obvious now that I do not live in a city. Oh well :)
> 
> My writer's block has abated!! yay!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of nsfw content in this chapter.

*****CASTIEL*****

Cas doesn’t see Dean at all over the next week or so. He gets caught up studying and can’t find a spare minute to even scratch his ass. So when Sam tells him that there’s something wrong with Dean, Cas finally has an excuse to take a break.

Knocking on the door to the Winchester’s on Saturday afternoon, he hitches his backpack higher onto his shoulder it feels like the first time in years that he’s been out of his room. Sam and Dean have a _home_ and while that isn’t the best or stylish house, it has that charm and comfort that no house Cas has ever lived in has. He prefers it at the Winchester’s and not just because it houses Dean.

“It’s open!” Sam calls from inside and Cas heads in, kicking his shoes off by the door. When Cas enters into the living room he sees why nobody bothered to show him in. Jessica and Sam sit on the floor in front of the TV, both fiercely competing in what looks to be a Mario Kart race. They completely ignore Cas until the race is over.

“Ha suck it!” Jessica slaps Sam on the shoulder before celebrating with a happy dance from her spot on the floor. Sam rolls his eyes, setting his remote down.

“I assume you did not win,” Castiel states and Sam shakes his head ‘no’.

“Nope! I did! He came seventh,” Jessica proclaims, puffing up her chest proudly.

“He’s in his room,” Sam waves in the direction of the hall. Cas nods his thanks, picking up his backpack he leaves Sam and Jessica to their weird display of affection. “I’m going to kick your ass,” he hears Sam promise and Cas smirks. _Good luck with that, Sam._ He thinks.

Cas hesitates for a moment outside Dean’s door. He knocks tentatively, waiting for an answer before entering. For a while none come and he begins to think that Dean’s sleeping as he so normally does on the weekends.

“Yeah?” Dean's voice is muffled and croaky and Cas takes that as his queue to enter. The room is dark, the curtains drawn and Cas has to squint as his eyes adjust to the change of lighting. “Cas,” Dean murmurs. He sounds happier and Cas smiles, dropping his backpack with a thunk at the door. Dean lies in bed, tangled up in the covers. His chest is bare and Cas is going to assume Dean hasn’t been out of the room all day.

“Are you ok?” he asks, picking his way over to the bed. Dean sighs, closing his eyes. He burrows back under the covers, hiding his face from Cas. “Dean?” Cas pokes him and Dean replies with some garbled words. Cas crosses his arms, waiting for the covers to come back down. It doesn’t take long before Dean’s head is poking out and he’s looking up at Cas through tired eyes. He throws the covers aside, patting the bed beside him. Cas kicks his joggers off before crawling in beside Dean, ignoring the distinctly unshowered Dean smell as the older man pulls him close. Dean tucks his face into the crook of Cas’ neck, relaxing. Cas has his arm thrown across Dean’s shoulders that he now sees are covered in freckles. He traces the small moles with an idle hand.

“What’s on you mind, Dean?” Cas asks to try draw Dean into a conversation.

“Too much,” Dean grumbles, pressing little kisses to Cas’ collarbone. Cas bites his lip to stifle his moans. Dean’s distracting him. He’s trying to draw Cas away from addressing the reason for his sadness.

“You want to elaborate on that?” Cas drags his hand up from Dean’s shoulder into his hair, meaning to pull him away but not having the strength of will.

“Mmm no,” Dean says resolutely, his kisses change into little nibbles and licks that have Cas squirming on the bed, his breathing gradually getting harsher as his arousal builds.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice a warning. Dean huffs.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sam’s worried,” Cas points out. Dean rolls his eyes and Cas smirks.

“Sam’s always worried,” Dean mutters darkly. Cas cards his fingers through the tufts of Dean’s hair humming in agreement. It has also come to Cas’ attention that the younger Winchester constantly is worrying about _something_ in regards to his brother.

“True. But this time he has a reason to be, yes?” Cas’ voice hitches on the last word. One of Dean’s hands sliding down his body until he’s cupping Castiel’s crotch through his jeans.

“Mmm it’s none of his business,” Dean decides, kneading Cas through the rough material. Cas’ mind goes blank for a second. _No! Must not get distracted! I can’t let him win!_ Cas screams at himself.

“He’s your brother. I’m sure it is his business. He has to live with you after all,” Cas’ voice climbs an octave. Dean laves his tongue over a particularly sharp bite, never ceasing the movement of his hand. Cas can feel his erection, tight and constricted in his jeans. As much as he’d love Dean to give him a hand job, he promised Sam he’d find out why Dean’s been so blue.

“I have to live with him when he’s in a bitchy mood,” Dean argues, his fingers working open the button on Cas’ jeans, teasing at the skin above Cas’ boxer shorts. Cas clenches his jaw, pushing his arousal away. He groans deep in his throat when Dean slides his hand under the waistband of the boxers, lightly dragging his fingertips over Cas’ throbbing cock. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“I think this is a… _ah_ little different than _that,_ ” Cas’ voice is little more than a squeak at this point. Dean is humming against his collarbones, his hand squeezing Cas’ dick. That’s it. Cas snaps. He grapples with Dean, flipping them so he’s straddling Dean’s lap. He grinds down and Dean’s breath hitches. Cas grumbles seeing the triumphant smirk on Dean’s lips. He makes it his mission to swipe that smirk from those stupidly lush and oh so kissable lips.

Their lips meet with a passion that surprises Castiel; teeth clash together, lips are bitten and bruised. Dean’s hips cant up to slot his clothed cock against Castiel’s and they rut against each other, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths.

Dean shoves his hands down the back of Castiel’s pants, cupping his ass and holding Cas in place as he lewdly rocks against Castiel. “We’re going to need to get these off,” Dean pants against Cas’ lips, tugging at Cas’ jeans. Castiel can’t help but agree and he rolls off Dean, kicking away the offending item of clothing. Cas goes to climb back on Dean but pulls up short at Dean’s expression. The raised eyebrow, the meaningful look at Cas’ tented boxers. Cas heaves a dramatic sigh and kicks the underwear off too. Dean brightens considerably.

“You too,” Cas nods to Dean’s underwear and Dean tugs them from his legs quicker than Cas thought possibly considering Dean’ lethargic state. Cas blankets Dean’s body, Dean slotting one leg between Cas’. Their kisses return, softer and more playful. If Cas weren’t so turned on right now he’d be blushing and shying away from Dean’s advances. As soon as the thought comes to Cas’ mind he instantly regrets it. This is the first time Dean’s seen him completely naked. The ‘what ifs’ come flying in. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? What if he laughs? Cas is a _virgin_ , what if Dean doesn’t like his inexperience? What if…

“You ok?” Dean frowns at him, eyes flicking down to where Cas’ erection if flagging.

“Ye—yes,” Cas nods shakily.

“You sure?” Dean rubs his hands down Cas’ sides. “If you don’t want this, we can stop,” Dean reassures him. Cas sighs, rolling off Dean.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Dean sits up, facing Cas who’s cross-legged on the bed, picking at a tiny ball of lint. Dean takes Cas’ hands in his. “What, Cas?”

“I just… I don’t know. You’re twenty eight. You’ve got experience. I’m…”

“You’re a virgin?” Dean guesses and Cas flushes bright scarlet. “So what?” Dean’s voice takes on an edge.

“Well, it’s not like I really know what I’m doing. I…”

“Cas. You really think I’m gonna stop liking you because you’re a virgin?” Dean asks in disbelief. Cas shrugs. Dean chuckles. “Sometime you’re so adorable Cas, I don’t know what I want to do with you,” Dean pulls him close until Cas is sitting in Dean’s lap. He wraps his arms around Cas’ waist.

“So you still wanna…?” Cas hesitates and Dean barks a laugh.

“Of course!” He punctuates it with a kiss. “Besides.” He looks down at Cas’ slowly hardening cock, it twitches under Dean’s scrutiny. “That is one hell of a dick. How many inches is that? Nine?” Cas blushes. He never expected to be having his conversation with anyone, let alone Dean Winchester. He shuts Dean up by pressing their lips together.

*****SAM*****

He knows that when Jess excused herself to the bathroom she didn’t _really_ have to go to the bathroom. He suspects that she wanted to go eavesdrop on Cas and Dean. He’s suspicions are proven correct when she comes barrelling down the hall, a giant grin on her face.

“Sam they’re making out!” she squeals.

“Oh my god I did not want to know that,” Sam groans, flopping back on the couch.

“This is great!” Jess slides onto the cushions beside Sam. She props her head on Sam’s chest, looking up at Sam. “I think they’re going to be really happy together,” she decides. Really, Sam hopes so. He wants his brother to be happy and if that’s going to mean him being with Cas then so be it.

***

Cas walks out of Dean’s room wearing a necklace of hickies and a full body flush. Sam raises an eyebrow and Cas’ flush darkens. “So?” he asks, taking a sip from his coke. Jess had to leave, some family emergency, so Sam had been entertaining himself in the living room.

“He would not tell me why he was upset,” Cas informs. Sam refrains from slamming his coke down on the coffee table in frustration. What is it with Dean and bottling everything up? If anyone would have been able to get _something_ out of him, Sam thought it would be Cas. But apparently not.

“Ok.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Cas comes to sit down beside him on the couch.

“It’s ok man. You tried,” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Is Dean going to make an appearance any time soon?” Sam asks, dropping his hands from his face.

“He’s currently sleeping. I told him if he were feeling up to it, we’d be expecting him for dinner. If not I shall bring some in for him,” Cas reports. Sam nods, heaving himself up.

“I might as well start on dinner then. Come on. What’d you want to eat?”

***

Despite Cas’ reassurances Sam is still worried. Dean is continually putting on this false bravado. _Something_ has happened and it’s pissing Sam off not knowing what that something is. Which is why, he finds himself sitting in the waiting room of Singer’s Garage. The receptionist ignores him, typing away on her ancient computer until the phone on her desk rings. Her voice is clipped and when she hangs up she tells him, in the same clipped tone. “Mr Singer will see you now.”

Sam keeps his eyes down as he heads cross the waiting room and down the hall to Singer’s office. He knocks on the door and a gruff voice tells him to ‘get in here’.

“Sam,” Bobby greets, waving a hand to the same chair Dean occupied a few weeks before.

“Hey Bobby,” Sam slumps down in the seat.

“What’s up with you?” Bobby raises an eyebrow, buzzing around the cluttered office. Sam watches in fascination as Bobby balances a manila folder atop a stack of paperwork.  As soon as Bobby turns his back, the stack topples. “Balls!” Bobby curses, stooping to grab the paper. Sam jumps up from his seat, helping to gather the fallen loose leaf. They place the paper on the side of Bobby’s desk.

“What’s on your mind?” Bobby steeps his fingers on the desk.

“Dean,” Sam mutters. Bobby clucks his tongue. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering when you’d come to me about your stubborn mule of a brother.”

“Bobby you don’t understand, something’s happened. It’s like he’s depressed. I don’t know what to do. He won’t talk to me,” Sam lets his head drop into his hands in despair.

“You’re worried about him,” Bobby states and Sam nods. Of course he’s worried about him! Dean’s his brother. He’s the only blood he’s got left. “I think,” Sam looks up, meeting Bobby’s stern gaze. “Dean wants to do best by you.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t roll ya eyes at me, ya idgit! Your brother has done so much for you. He loves you something fierce and I wouldn’t doubt that he’d jump right into hell if it meant saving you. If Dean is keeping this from you then it’s for a damn good reason and you shouldn’t question it,” Bobby snaps.

“Why won’t he tell me? I can handle it. I’m almost eighteen. Why does he always have to keep everything bottled up inside him?” Sam grouches, sniffing in indignation.

“He’s your brother. He doesn’t want to see you upset.”

“He’s making me upset by not telling me!” Sam huffs.

“Well maybe what he has to tell you is going to make you feel a lot worse than what you’re feeling now,” Bobby reasons.

“You know, don’t you?” Sam crosses his arms.

“Know what?” Bobby shifts, staring past Sam, over his shoulder.

“Don’t give me that. You know what Dean’s hiding from me. Tell me,” Sam demands.

“Dean will tell you in his own good time. It’s not my place,” Bobby gives up the innocent act. Sam pouts, really playing up the puppy dog eyes. Bobby doesn’t budge. “Don’t give me that look, boy,” Bobby scowls.

“I need to know, Bobby,” Sam pleads. “I need to know so I can have piece of mind.”

“No you don’t. Dean will tell you when he’s good and ready. And if all you’re gonna do is keep grouching to me, you can get out.” Bobby turns to his ancient monitor, ignoring Sam as he makes his way out.

Sam shoves his hands deep into his pockets, he doesn’t really want to go home and face Dean. He can’t handle seeing him so upset and not being able to do anything about it. Sam walks, his sneakers scuffing against the pavement, no destination in mind. He’s not surprised when he finds himself outside Jess’ house. Stalking up the front steps, he knocks on the door.

Jess answers the door and Sam collapses forward, pulling her into a hug. “Sam? What—?” Jess asks, slowly reciprocating his hug.

“I need you,” he murmurs, burying his nose in her springy hair.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw content in this giant ass chapter.

Dean’s aware that his plan to work all his shit out isn’t working. He’s anxious. He hasn’t left the house in months other than going to work. Sam’s picked up on his mood and Dean can tell he’s close to staging an intervention. He takes comfort in knowing that at least he’s keeping Sam safe.

 That was before he got the phone call. Pride wanted him back. He doesn’t care if the cops are still after him. Apparently, the junkies were cracking up. They didn’t trust anyone else to deliver their drugs. Dean’s surprised that those meth heads even cared enough as long as they got their ice.

 Pride organises for Meg to pick him up and accompany him to each deal. He argues. He doesn’t want to spend upwards of four hours with her. But Pride wouldn’t have it. The Ducati would draw too much attention. So he sucks it up and waits by the door. He doesn’t want Sam seeing her. He shudders to think what Sam would do, what Sam would say if he saw Meg.

 Of course, its almost like it was inevitable that Sam and Meg were going to meet just because Dean didn’t want them to. The doorbell rings and both Sam and Dean jump up. Sam raises an eyebrow before sitting back down; re-opening the worn copy of some sci-fi novel he absolutely loves. Dean heads for the door. He scowls when he sees Meg. “Dean,” she purrs, pushing past Dean before he has a chance to slip past and slam the door shut. She heads into the house, practically making herself at home.

 “Meg. Stop. Meg,” Dean warns. She throws him a smirk and sashays into the living room. Dean storms after her, the thundercloud above his head almost literal.

 “I’m Meg,” she extends her hand, leaning over the couch, giving Sam an eyeful of her ample cleavage. He coughs, looking away. Dean mentally gives his little bro a high five. He didn’t raise no pervert.

 “Are you Dean’s friend?” Sam asks, looking up from his book, his eyebrows raised in a hopeful expression.

 “You could say that,” Meg leans up against the couch, oozing sex appeal. Sam’s eyes flicker between Dean and Meg, his hope fading fast.

Dean clears his throat, “We were just leaving.” He glares at Meg who smiles, her enjoyment etched onto her face.

 “Sure. Nice meeting you,” she trails a slim finger down Sam’s arm.

 “Uh you too Meg.”

 “Let’s go,” Dean hauls out the irritating woman with a firm grip on her arm. Meg cackles, finding Dean’s anger absolutely hilarious.

 ***

 Dean counts out the crumpled notes, resting up against the dusty brick building. Meg stands across the alley, smoking a cigarette. She eyes him off, like she’s trying to figure him out and it irks Dean to no end. So he glares at her. He glares until she snorts and looks away, stubbing out her smoke on the ground.

 “What?” he growls, shoving the paper bag back down the waistband of his pants, pulling his coat down low to disguise the bulge.

 “Nothin’,” she shrugs, taking a step towards him. “Just thinking to myself.”

 “That’s never a good sign,” Dean mutters, earning him a punch to the bicep.

 “Shut the fuck up.”

“When is the prick supposed to get here?” Dean changes the subject before they have a change to get into any deep and meaningful shit.

 “Like an hour ago,” Meg checks her phone.

 “Fuck him. Lets go,” Dean stalks back down the alley. Of course, the asshole makes an appearance just as they decide to leave. Meg handles the deal; she gives Dean a look, telling him to go wait in the car.

 Not ten minutes later she meets him in the car, slapping a wad of bills to his chest. He takes them with a grunt as Meg drives them to their next location.

 ***

 “I got this,” Dean jumps out of the car before Meg has a chance to argue and a glance over his shoulder shows her fuming. Dean smirks. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, keeping his head low as he walks. The air is cool and Dean hums a little under his breath. Glancing left and right, he turns down an alley.

 Balthazar waits for him, twitching slightly. Dean thinks nothing of it. Balthazar is always twitchy, always high and Dean’s surprised the guy is even alive. “Finally,” Balthazar hisses, reaching for Dean who takes a step back. He eyes Balthazar. His light hair lies limp and greasy on his head, his clothes look like they’ve seen better days and his skin is pale. Dean screws up his nose at the stench; sweat. It pours down Balthazar’s temples and pools in the dips of his collarbones.

 “Are you Ok? How much have you had today?” Dean questions.

 “Not enough!” Balthazar growls, thrusting the money at Dean’s chest with a jerk.

 Slowly, Dean pulls the packet from his pocket and Balthazar pounces, taking the drugs from Dean. Not caring one bit as Dean scrambles to pick up the green notes from the dirty alley ground. Dean looks up with a concerned frown on his face. Balthazar pulls a small pipe and zippo lighter from his pocket and begins smoking the drug right in front of Dean. Dean gapes at him.

 “Seriously? You couldn’t even wait for me to leave?!” Dean mutters his voice rising with his incredulity. Balthazar doesn’t answer and Dean snorts. Who cares? Obviously Balthazar doesn’t. He turns meaning to leave, but before he can take a step Balthazar is making wheezing pained noises. Balthazar clutches his chest, his pipe falling from his fingers. It clangs against the ground ignored. Balthazar looks pleadingly at Dean, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he sways on his feet. “Balthazar?”

 “H-help,” he wheezes falling to his knees shuddering.

 “Oh fuck.” Dean pulls out his phone, dialling for an ambulance. Balthazar’s twitching escalates until he’s having a full-blown seizure. He gives the operator clipped instructions, kneeling over Balthazar. Pulling the phone away from his ear he smothers it in his shirt before hissing in Balthazar’s ear, “I was not here!” Balthazar doesn’t seem to be listening and Dean refrains from screaming his frustration. Muffled “hellos?” from his phone remind him that he actually has to talk to the operator if he wants Balthazar to survive. But does he? It’s no skin off his nose if Balthazar winds up dead. Or is it?

 ***

 Dean hangs up, sprinting away from Balthazar’s convulsing form. Meg has her legs resting across the shotgun seat, idly chewing a piece of gum when Dean comes barrelling from the alley. “Go. Go!” he yells pushing her legs away as he dives into the car.

 “The fuck?!” Meg scrambles to get the car going.

 “He ODed,” Dean huffs, glancing behind them as Meg gets them the hell out of dodge.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” Meg shoots him an incredulous look.

 “Why would I lie?” Dean bites back.

 “Fuck! You didn’t call an ambulance did you?”

 “Yeah, why?”

 “You fucking idiot!” Meg bellows, slapping Dean’s arm hard enough that he hisses in pain. “Now the cops are really gonna be on our asses! He’s gonna dob us in you complete imbecile,” Meg glares at him.

 “I couldn’t fucking leave him for dead!” Dean argues.

 “Yes you could have! And you fucking should have! Pride is going to murder you!” Meg lets out a slightly crazed laugh. “Then he’s gonna kill me. Oh I hope your conscience is happy Winchester because you’ve just gone and fucked the lot of us.” Dean rests his face in his hands.

 Meg was right about Pride. He was murderously angry. Instead of pitching the tumbler glass at Dean’s head he went straight for the bottle of scotch.

 Dean left feeling sick to the pit of his stomach. What’s going to happen now? He didn’t know and he’s not game enough to ask.

 At home he falls into bed, grinding his teeth hard enough his jaw creaks. He’s too wound up to sleep but he still has a few hours until he has to be awake. He spends them worrying.

 ***

 Sam peppers him with questions that Dean has no intentions of answering over breakfast. He leaves angry and Dean can’t find it in himself to care just yet. Something’s going to happen and as ashamed as it makes him to admit it. Dean’s scared.

*****CASTIEL*****

 Cas is shaken awake by a rough hand. Anna is leaning over him, tears streaming down her face. “What is it?” his voice is even more gravely than usual.

 “Balthazar,” Anna chokes and Castiel envelops her in a hug. “He over dosed a couple hours ago. I just got the call now. We have to go to the hospital, Cas,” Anna sobs and he holds her.

 “Of course. Let me get changed and we’ll go.” Anna nods leaving Cas’ bedroom.

 Letting his head drop into his hands, Cas is gripped by fear. As much as he hates his brother sometimes and has contemplated this day for a very long time, now that’s its come, Cas is scared. He’s scared for his brother. And Anna. And for himself.

 Climbing out of bed he throws on the first clothes he can get his hands on. Meeting a pacing Anna in the living room they give each other grim smiles, both reigning in their tumultuous emotions. “I’m sure he’s going to be fine,” Cas says more to reassure Anna than himself. He concerned that the amount of drugs his brother consumes on a regular basis will hinder any chance he has from coming back from this. Anna nods. Holding out her hand, Cas takes it and that point of contact is their anchor. They’ll keep it together because they have each other. It’s going to be ok.

 ***

 The hospital isn’t particularly busy. It is almost two o’clock in the morning so that might have something to do with it. They pace up to the receptionist, who is flipping through some gossip magazine. Cas gives are a reproachful look.

 “May I help you?” she asks, sliding a manila folder over her magazine.

 “Yes. We’re here to see Balthazar Novak. He was brought in an hour ago,” Anna hiccups, tears building up in her eyes again. Her voice is hoarse and Castiel squeezes her hand in an attempt to comfort her.

 “Are you family?” The receptionist asks.

 “Yes. We’re his siblings,” Castiel nods.

 “Ah ok. He was in quite a state I heard. Let me just call for Dr Milton. Please take a seat.” She gestures to the abundance of white plastic chairs in the waiting area.

 “Thank you,” Castiel nods to her. Anna slumps over, hugging herself. Threading an arm across her shoulders, Castiel pulls her into his side. Anna muffles her whimpers into her hand, resting her head against Cas’ shoulder. “It’s going to be ok, Anna,” Cas whispers, rubbing her arm.

 “But what if it’s not?” she looks up at him, tear tracks marring her cheeks. Cas’ heart clenches seeing his sister so upset.

 “We have to think positive for the moment.”

 They sit in silence waiting for the doctor. Castiel feels tense, his body coiled tighter than a spring. His stomach swirls and Cas thinks that he might just puke. Clenching his jaw he swallows repeatedly trying to keep his nausea down.

 Tapping his foot against the linoleum floor he glances around the room. Small televisions are mounted high on each wall, their volume so low that to hear them you have to strain your ears. The waiting room smells vaguely of bleach and aside from them there are only two other people present: the receptionist and a man. If Cas had to guess, he would assume the man’s wife is in labor. This conclusion gathered from the look of complete terror and worry on his face and the tiny beanie in his hands.

 “Novaks?” A doctor calls and Anna jumps up. Castiel follows. The man is short with light brown hair and whiskey coloured eyes.

 “Yes? Is he ok? Can we see him?” Anna bombards the doctor with questions. Castiel places a hand on her arm and she settles down a little.

 “He’s stable. But wowee how much meth does he do? He’s in a bad way. Needs help,” Dr Milton looks between Cas and Anna, a grave look on his face.

 “We know,” Anna chokes.

 “If he over doses again I don’t think he’s going to come back,” Milton says softly. Castiel heaves a sigh; feeling tears building up in his eyes.

 “C-can we see him?” he asks, his voice breaking.

 “Follow me.” The doctor turns on his heel and marching down the hall, he flanked by the two Novak siblings.

 There is a police officer standing outside the room when Dr Milton leads them to Balthazar’s room. Cas gives the officer an uneasy look. Anna ignores him completely, rushing to her elder brother’s side. Balthazar is unconscious and Cas turns back to the doctor, questions on his lips.

 “We had to sedate him. After he was treated and the meth wore off he became violent,” Milton explains. Castiel nods in understanding. “He probably won’t wake for a while yet. He’s still detoxing.”

 Tubes lead from Balthazar’s wrists and an oxygen mask sits over his mouth. A heart monitor beeps and all around him lights flash. Trailing his eyes over Balthazar’s body, Cas isn’t surprised to see his brother restrained to the bed. Holding his breath, Cas forces himself to remain calm, crossing his arms over his chest. The doctor places a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. Turning back to Anna, Cas sees her tentatively holding Balthazar’s hand. She speaks softly. His breath rattling in his chest, Cas escapes. He flees from the room, heading out of the hospital. Tears fall from his eyes and bile rises up his throat. Falling to his knees, Cas vomits into a flowerbed. Shaking and sobbing he hunches over on the ground. Stupid Balthazar! How dare he! How dare he over dose and make his family sick with worry? He has no right! Cas scrubs a hand over his mouth, getting rid of the strands of bile and spit sticking to his lips.

 Broken noises spill from his lips and Castiel doesn’t care how pathetic he looks, hunched over in the night. He’s hurt. And angry. A hand on his shoulder has him looking up. Dr Milton stands over him, a tissue in his hand. Taking it, Cas wipes his face. “Come inside,” the doctor helps him up. Still trembling, Castiel follows him into the hospital.

*****DEAN*****

 For the rest of the week Dean is on edge. He doesn’t see Cas and Sam isn’t speaking to him. Meg calls him, informing him that Balthazar lived. That at least calms Dean some. Until Sam comes homes from school and tells him that Castiel’s brother ODed. Then Dean almost loses it. Balthazar has to be Castiel’s brother. Has to be. It can’t be a coincidence. However, no cops come knocking and Dean takes that as a small blessing. It gets Dean thinking. If Balthazar is Castiel’s brother then it’s only going to be a matter of time before Castiel finds out about who it is that supplies the drugs. It physically wounds Dean to think about how upset and hurt that that would make Cas. With a heavy heart he comes to a decision.

 Cas comes round almost two weeks after Balthazar’s OD. Dean folds him into a hug, whispering into his ear that he heard what happened and that he hopes that Cas is alright. Cas says nothing. They settle on the couch, watching shitty soap opera’s on TV.

 If Cas notices how wound up Dean is he doesn’t mention it. He says nothing as Dean drags Cas into his bedroom. Dean sits on the bed, pulling Cas down with him. Cas leans in, trying to kiss Dean. Thinking that the reason they’re in the bedroom is sex. Dean swallows down the lump in his throat, pushing Cas away. He has to turn his head away when Cas turns those bed blue eyes on him. All wide and filled with concern.

 “Dean?” he asks, placing a hand on Dean’s wrist.

 “We can’t… we can’t be together,” Dean feels as if his heart is ripping in two. He stands, pacing away from the bed. He turns back to Cas and seeing the deeply hurt look in Cas’ eyes he’d assume Cas feels the same way.

 “Why?” Cas asks, his voice timid.

 “You’re eighteen. I’m twenty-eight. We can’t… You’re my brothers’ friend it’s wrong,” Dean doesn’t know if the words spilling from his lips even make any sense. He just knows that he has to get Cas away. It’s for his own good no matter how much it hurts.

 “Bullshit!” Cas snaps, eyes narrowing in his anger. “Tell me the truth,” Cas demands, jumping up from the bed and stepping into Dean’s personal space. Dean places his hands on Cas’ upper arms intending to push him away but not having the courage to do so.

 “I’m not a good man, Cas,” Dean looks away biting his lip. He knows that without a doubt Castiel heard the break in his voice. Turning away is a futile attempt to keep Cas from seeing the tears threatening to stream down his cheeks.

 “You really think that?” Cas whispers, incredulously.

 “I know that!” Dean turns back to his younger lover. “I am part of one of the biggest drug syndicates in the state. I’m lying to my brother. I’m ruining people’s lives. I’m a criminal!” Dean almost shouts; the hands gripping Cas’ biceps tighten.

 “What?” Cas asks, confusing and incomprehension written all over his face.

 “I’m a criminal Cas. I deal drugs.” Cas gasps, as if Dean’s words physically punch him in the gut. They stand in silence, not looking away from each other. Dean can almost see the cogs turning in Cas’ head as he processes the news. “We can’t be together. I don’t want you to get hurt,” Dean pleads.

 “You… Balthazar. Please tell me it’s not true. Tell me it wasn’t you,” Cas; voice breaks.

 “I called an ambulance straight away. If I could have helped it I would never have let him take them. I hate this Cas. I hate dealing. Cas I swear!” Dean takes a step towards Cas. Cas is frozen. And Dean tentatively, places his hands on Cas’ cheeks. “Please Cas. I’m so sorry.”

 “Did you know he was my brother?” Cas demands.

 “No. Not until the other day. I swear to you Cas. If I had known I never would have given him anything,” Dean says vehemently.

 “I believe you.”

 Dean almost sighs, until he remembers why he brought Cas into his room in the first place. He drops his hands, taking a step away. He carefully wipes all the emotion from his face. “That still doesn’t change anything. This has to stop. I can’t… won’t live with myself if you ever get hurt because of me. We can’t…”

 “Dean…”

 “Castiel! You don’t understand! I’m trying to look out for you here, can’t you see?” Dean pleads with him.

 “Why? Why must you look out for me? I can take care of myself!”

 “People’ll think…” Dean bites his lip. What will people think? Horrible things?

 “I don’t care! And I thought you didn’t either! Dean I want to be with you!” Cas chokes on a dry sob.

 “No. Cas you have to leave. And never…” Cas cuts him off.

 “You are not defined by the way you live, Dean Winchester,” Cas growls, looking more angry than Dean has ever seen him. “You are a good man. You are loyal and brave and would do anything for the ones you love. Like now, you want to break up with me so I don’t get hurt. You are compassionate and caring and so, so kind. But you are also self-deprecating and you loath that the way you live is against the law because you know you can do better. And you know what? All the qualities that I just named are the reason I love you,” Cas insists, his eyes blaze with grim determination.

 If it’s the last thing he does, he vows to let Dean know just how much he’s loved and appreciated. With Cas’ words the tears spill down Dean’s face. Ugly sobs build in Dean’s chest leaving him heaving and gasping for air. He’s well aware of the snot dribbling from his nose but he pulls Cas close anyway. He hugs the younger boy to his chest. Cas tightens a fist in Dean’s shirt while his other hand curls in the hair at the base of Dean’s skull. “It’s ok,” Cas whispers. “It’s ok.”

 “I don’t deserve you Cas. But I’m damn glad you think I do,” Dean whispers through his hiccups as he attempts to but a cap on his emotions. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Cas dabs at the snot under Dean’s nose and the tear tracks on his cheeks. He cleans Dean up and miraculously Dean lets him. Once he’s done he re-pockets the square of material and presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. They taste salty with Dean’s tears. “I love you, Dean Winchester and no matter how bad it gets, I’m going to be there with you,” Cas promises. “I know it’s hard for you to say back but I just wanted you to know,” He cups Dean’s jaw, making Dean look directly in the eye as he speaks. Dean nods, green eyes bloodshot and cheeks splotchy.

  *****CASTIEL*****

 Despite his frazzled state, Castiel still thinks Dean’s the most beautiful human being he’s laid eyes on. He decides, staring at Dean that he loves him. Plain and simple. He’s never felt for anyone what he feels for Dean.

 “I want to take you on a date,” Cas tells Dean, who gives him a watery smile.

 “You don’t have to do that, Cas,” He says, voice husky.

 “I know. But I want to.”

 ***

 That spur of the moment decision resulted in a good weeks worth of worry. Where is he going to take Dean? What’re they going to do? The only date he’s been on, ever, was with Dean and while that was a great success, it doesn’t really give Cas any ideas. He doesn’t want to go to Sam; he doesn’t want it to be anymore awkward between them.

 Cas sits at the kitchen table his chin resting on his fist, watching Anna wash their newest dinner set. Anna notices his moping and without saying a word, she has Cas confessing. “What do I do?” he whines.

 Anna rolls her eyes, “You act like you’re the only person to ever have faced this problem.” Cas harrumphs. “You said Dean likes cars. Do something car related,” Anna suggests, rinsing off a plate.

 “Like what?” Cas pouts, earning another eye roll.

 “You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Anna states, turning her back on him.

 “Not when it comes to this,” Castiel argues with a sigh. This makes Anna turn. Drying off her hands, she pulls out a chair opposite her younger brother.

 “Castiel, I know you’re worried about this. Trust me, everyone is when they try to organise their first date. I know I was!” Anna chuckles, a little nostalgic.

 “Where are you going with this?” Cas raises an eyebrow.

 “Don’t be cynical! I’m trying to reassure you. I think. That Dean will be happy wherever you go and whatever you do because he’s going to be spending time with you,” Anna places a hand on his arm. She gives him a comforting little squeeze. Cas smiles. “Don’t over think it.”

 “You’re a poet.”

 “Huh?” Anna frowns.

 “You said ‘Dean will be happy wherever you go and whatever you do because he’s going to be spending time with you’. It rhymes,” Cas points out. Anna slaps the table, a grin stretching her lips.

 “Well there you go! See you should take my advice. It even rhymes.” She gets up from the table, the pleased smile still on her face.

 Anna’s right. Cas is over thinking it. Sliding back from his place at the kitchen table, he heads down to his room, a plan already formulating in his mind.

 ***

 “Just keep driving,” Cas pouts, slumping down on the leather seat. Dean has been pestering him for the last hour. He wants details. Cas why did I have to pack an over night bag? Where are we going? What are we doing? I hope you aren’t going to lead me somewhere to murder me. “Trust me.”

 “Can I have a hint at least? Tell me which city,” Dean takes one hand off the steering wheel to clasp Cas’. He brings it to his lips, planting a soft kiss to Cas’ knuckles. And damn if that doesn’t make Cas’ stomach get all fluttery.

 “Fine. We’re going to Murdo.”

 “Murdo, huh,” Dean says thoughtfully.

 “That’s it! I’m not telling you anymore. I want it to be a surprise,” Cas insists.

 “Aw did you put a lot of thought into this?” Cas blushes at Dean’s words. “Aw you’re so sweet, baby,” Dean presses another kiss to Cas’ knuckles.

 “Shut up,” he grumbles.

 ***

 “World Famous Pioneer Auto museum,” Dean reads.

 Cas can’t decipher Dean’s emotions and doubt starts to eat away at him. Maybe this was a stupid idea. He probably should have just taken Dean for a walk in the park or something. God, he clenches his fingers in his lap, why is this so nerve wracking? “We don’t have to… if you think its boring or… yeah… we can just go home,” Cas blubbers, making Dean turn to him, a confused look on his face.

 “Why would we go home?”

 “It’s probably boring…”

 “Nah it looks like fun. Come on,” Dean smiles, hopping out of the Impala. Cas breathes a sigh of relief, following along.

 They head over to get their admin passes. Dean insists on paying which makes Cas slightly irritated. It was his idea to take Dean on this date therefore he should pay. He wants to! He says so and Dean only rolls his eyes, pulling out his wallet. The clerk gives them a slightly worried look when Cas crosses his arms, glaring up at Dean.

 "I should have paid. It’s not like it’s even that much,” Cas grouches as they begin wandering through the museum. Dean chuckles, threading an arm around Cas’ waist. He says nothing, just holds Cas close until he begins to let the anger fade. Cas decides that the day will be much more enjoyable if he just lets it go. So he does.

 There are a few other people around. A family group and a couple of what look like vacationing retirees. They mostly go unnoticed and Cas just basks in being in Dean’s company. It’s nice, being able to do something with Dean away from the Winchester household. Dean looks like a kid in a candy shop, speaking excitedly about all the cars on display. Whistling low under he breath at some of them and gushing over others. As more time goes on, Cas gets more and more confident that this was a good decision.

 They’re stopped in front of what appears to be the actual 1969 Charger from Dukes of Hazzard, when Cas hears the snicker from behind them. Turning to look over Dean’s shoulder he sees a pair of men, both in their late fifties and sporting impressive beer bellies. They sneer at Dean and Cas, whispering amongst themselves. Cas feels himself bristle, gaining Dean’s attention.

 “What’s wrong, Cas?” he leans down a little speaking quietly to Cas, before he turns, following Cas’ gaze. Dean immediately stiffens.

 “Can we help you two?” Dean calls out to the men, straightening and squaring his shoulders. The movement making himself look more imposing. Almost instantly the men stop, hurrying away. Dean snorts, muttering a few choice words under his breath that Cas can’t quite catch. “You ok?” Dean looks to Cas.

 “I’m fine,” Cas replies glumly, resting against Dean who rubs a hand down his back. It’s a shame that they can’t do something as simple as attend a museum without homophobic asses making snide comments.

 “You can’t let those two dicks get to you,” Dean murmurs. Cas sighs.

 “Yeah I know.”

 “Wanna go grab something to eat? I saw a diner,” Dean coaxes Cas from his mood. Nodding, they head over to the diner, Dean’s stomach grumbling. It makes Cas laugh.

 ***

 Cas orders a burger while Dean opts for ribs. The diner is nice. It carries a 1950’s vibe. From the décor to Elvis playing softly through the hidden speakers. Playing with the salt and pepper shakers distracts Cas from blatantly staring at Dean. For some reason the nerves have returned. Maybe it’s because there’s nothing to distract them from each other. It’s just them. Cas tips out a small pile of salt onto the table, sticking the tip of his finger into the tiny white granules.

 He looks up at Dean who’s examining the art on the walls, singing a little under his breath. Castiel tilts his head, listening to the words. Then you know how completely I’m counting on you. The melody fades out before the song changes to something more upbeat, the artist crooning over the speakers. Deep down Louisiana close to New Orleans… Dean taps his fingers to the beat and Castiel smiles a little. It catches Dean’s eye and he grins back.

 “I have the urge to pick you up and twirl you around this diner although I don’t think you’ll take to kindly to dancing,” Dean says quietly. Castiel blushes. Stuff like that only happens in movies. He wouldn’t know what he would do if Dean actually went through with the idea. Before he can reply the song ends. Castiel giggles, holding a hand to his mouth. “Maybe another time,” Dean winks.

 “I’ll take you up on that,” Cas promises. He reaches across the table, flexing his hand. Dean threads their fingers together and that’s how their hands stay. Clasped together across the linoleum tablecloth.

 ***

 Castiel drags them back over to the building housing all the little trinkets from the past. They wind their way through, admiring the vintage toys and items from a time long since past. Dean has his phone out, snapping pictures as Cas gushes over the ‘fortune tellers box’. Before they leave Cas pesters Dean into taking a selfie of them both.

 The sun is setting and Cas is eager to move onto the next phase of his date.

 “Left.”

 “You’re determined not to give me any details aren’t you?” Dean smirks, flicking on his indicator.

 “Yup,” Cas stares out the window, keeping his face blank. He’s jittery with nerves, but determined to look cool, calm and collected. Dean shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

 “Iversen Inn?” Dean gives Cas a questioning look.

 “I figured you wouldn’t want to drive the three hours home in the dark,” Cas states, hopping from the car. That’s not totally accurate, but close enough to the truth.

 Castiel did some research and this place is no only cheap, but a fair amount of people deemed it clean and inviting. After a brief phone call with the owner, a cheery man, Castiel has a room waiting for them.

 Castiel drops his duffle on the bed, glancing around the room. It’s small but at a glance looks welcoming enough. There’re no suspicious stains and the room itself smells like pine cleaning products.

 "You got us a room, huh? Have some plans you’d like to share with me?” Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist from behind, pressing his lips to the back of Cas’ neck.

 “Um… uh,” Castiel is having trouble piecing his thoughts together. Dean rubs his hands over Cas’ abdomen, fingers dipping under the waistband of Cas’ jeans. His lips are sealed to the skin of Cas’ neck, his teeth occasionally nibbling the tender skin.

 “I bet you’ve got more that a spare set of clothes in that bag of yours,” Dean rumbles. Castiel tilts his head to the side, nodding. Dean chuckles, “You’re not as innocent as everyone thinks. Show me what you’ve brought.” Castiel nods, wordlessly picking his way across the room he grabs his bag. He pulls out the tube of lube and the handful of condoms he’s slipped into the side pocket. He ignores the flush that heats his skin as he turns back to Dean. “You are definitely prepared.” Dean meets him in three strides, taking Cas’ face in his hands. Their kiss is unrestrained, full of passion and pent up emotion. The hurt Cas had been feeling earlier today melts with the feeling of Dean’s lips on his. Tongues work furiously, tangling together. Castiel presses himself against Dean, fisting his hands in Dean’s shirt. Dean groans, grinding his groin into Cas’.

 “As nice as this is, I think we should move it to the bed. I’ve got some plans of my own I’d like to share with you,” Dean pants against Cas’ lips. He nods, stepping backward. He pushes his duffle from the bed, leaving only the lube and condoms. Dean watches, heat in his gaze as Cas shucks his shirt over his head, beginning to work on his belt.

 “You just going to stand there?” Cas asks. Immediately, Dean’s working his own clothes off and Castiel grins. Dean climbs onto the bed, leaning over Cas, he lets his eyes trail across Castiel’s naked body. “Didn’t you once say something about getting my cock in your ass?” Cas hums, peppering kisses over Dean’s chest, over the freckles smattering the tanned skin. Dean doesn’t grace him with an answer, he just groans, rocking down against Cas’ thigh, dragging the length of his hard cock across Cas. “We should probably do something about that, huh?” Castiel reaches down, wrapping his fingers around the thick length. Dean’s head bows down, his forehead resting against Cas’ collarbone.

 “Please,” Dean murmurs. That simple word, gives Castiel the confidence to throw Dean off. He lands on his back with a startled noise. Castiel gets on his knees, grabbing the lube. Dean watches, spreading his legs, inviting Castiel to do what he wants.

 “I should probably warn you that I’ve never done this before,” Cas murmurs, clicking open the cap.

 “I’ll guide you,” Dean promises. Castiel nods, moving to kneel between Dean’s thighs. “Go slow.”

 “Ok.” Castiel lightly trails a finger over Dean’s hole, watching it clench a little. “Ok?” He meets Dean’s eyes. Dean makes a little noise of affirmation. Castiel presses his finger inside, feeling Dean tense initially before relaxing into the mattress. Castiel presses kisses to Dean’s inner thigh, as he works the digit all the way inside. He can hear Dean panting a little when he begins thrusting his finger, gently, working up the speed.

 “Another, Cas,” Dean pants and Castiel doesn’t hesitate to comply.

 He gradually works his way up to three fingers, crooking them inside Dean’s body, feeling the velvety insides against his fingertips. He feels a little bump and Dean lets out a moan, his back arching up off the bed. Naturally, Castiel works his fingers against that bump; Dean’s prostate until the older man begins babbling nonsense. “Fuck, Cas. Ah god. Ok. Please fuck me now. You gotta…” Castiel pulls his fingers from Dean’s body, fumbling for a condom his fingers slick with lube. He rolls it down his length, giving himself a few strokes.

 On his knees, he grabs Dean’s hips, lifting them a little off the bed. “Ready?” he asks Dean who gives a pitiful moan, nodding his head emphatically. Despite the preparation, Dean is tight. Castiel feels himself buckling over, having to rest his head against Dean’s abdomen as he pushes inside. One of Dean’s hands tangles in his hair, fingertips scraping lightly across his skull. Bottoming out has both Dean and Cas groaning. Castiel grinds his hips against Dean’s ass drawing out another of Dean’s moans. Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s bellybutton and the hand in his hair clenches.

 “Move,” Dean grinds, his voice hitched. Starting out slow, Castiel keeps his thrusts gentle, taking his time. Feeling Dean’s cock twitching, trapped between Cas’ torso and Dean’s. Leaning back, Castiel slides a thumb over the head, smoothing the precome down the length. He listens as Dean’s breath gets caught in his throat. “I’m not going to break,” Dean growls, pressing back against Castiel, trying to quicken the pace. Cas gives him a wicked smile, drawing back until the head of his cock is the only thing inside Dean. He thrusts forward, a quick snap of his hips burying the full length of his dick in Dean. Dean cries out, hands fisting in the sheets. “That’s more like it,” he laughs breathily. Castiel keeps up the pace, snapping his hips forward over and over. The slick sound of skin slapping on skin, along with Dean’s moans and Castiel’s grunts have the room sounding like some kind of trashy porno.

 “You like that?” Cas holds Dean’s hips off the bed, pulling the older man to meet each thrust. His fingertips dig into the flesh hard enough to leave marks. Dean hooks his ankles behind Cas’ knees.

 “Hell yeah,” he gasps, biting his lip.

 “Good. Get yourself off,” Cas grunts, quicken his pace, almost jackhammering into Dean know. Sweat rolls down his back, his thighs trembling as he nears orgasm. The rhythmic clench of Dean’s ass on his dick combined with the downright dirty sounds pouring from Dean’s mouth have him tingling.

 Dean wraps a hand around his cock, stripping it for all he’s worth, his chest raising and falling rapidly. “You gonna come, Cas?” Dean taunts.

 Cas clenches his eyes shut, “Yes,” he pants, grinding his hips against Dean’s, his orgasm ripping through him. Shaking he thrusts slowly, pumping into the condom, Dean’s ass milking him through his climax. Dean comes not a second later, spurting over his hand and chest.

 There’s silence in the room, nothing but their heavy breathing as their regain their wits. Castiel draws himself from Dean, clenching his teeth at the noise of discomfort Dean makes. Collapsing beside Dean, Cas lets his eyes fall shut. That had been better than he expected.

 “Wow,” Dean mutters, head lolling to the side. Castiel grins at him.

 “Ditto.” Cas rolls off the bed, disappearing into the tiny bathroom to dispose of the condom and grab a washcloth for Dean. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he wets the washcloth, his hair is mussed, colour high on his cheekbones and his eyes are alight. He looks happy. He feels happy. Euphoric.

 Dean is spread eagle on the bed, eyes closed, a small smile on his face. Castiel feels a smile stretch his lips. Crawling back on the bed, he presses his lips to Dean’s. “Hey,” he whispers, staring into Dean’s eyes.

 “Hey,” Dean replies. Cas wipes down Dean’s chest, removing the drying come. He takes Dean’s hand cleaning that off too before moving back between Dean’s legs. “We could take a shower?” Dean suggests, propping himself up on his elbows. Castiel quirks an eyebrow.

 “Have you seen how small that bathroom is in there? I’m assuming you didn’t mean showing alone,” he comments, beginning to wipe up the mess between Dean’s legs.

 “True,” Dean acknowledges, fluffing a pillow under his head. Castiel hums. “You wanna go get something to eat later?”

 “Yeah. After we’re clean.” Castiel climbs back off the bed to rinse the cloth in the bathroom. Dean presses up against him as he’s hunched over the small basin. He hugs Cas from behind.

 “That was really great,” he tells Cas, sincerity plain in his voice. Castiel blushes at the compliment. “You were really great.”

 “Stop it,” he whispers, ducking away.

 “Why? You were,” Dean insists, hugging Castiel tighter.

 “Ok, ok,” Cas smiles, meeting Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “Thank you.”

 “What for?” A little crease appears between Dean’s brows.

 “For just being you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of gore in this chapter... kinda.

*****DEAN*****

Pride basically told Dean that one more incident and he was going to personally beat the shit out of him. The way Pride’s eyes glinted told Dean that the man would gladly go through with the threat. That being said, Dean has had multiple chances already and compared to the other dealers, more bad shit has happened to him. It’s like he’s this magnet and every possible bad scenario that _could_ happen, happens.

So Dean makes a promise to himself. That if anything happens, he’s going to do what Meg would do. Someone over-doses? He runs. He doesn’t look back no matter how much it kills him. He can’t afford to get into any more shit.

***

“No you crazy son of a bitch! You got out of rehab like two days ago! You’re a fucking psycho!” Dean backs away. Balthazar is obviously insane. Dean needs to get out of here.

“Give. Me. My. DRUGS!” Balthazar stumbles towards him, lunging arms outstretched. He throws his body at Dean, hooking his hands into the front of Dean’s jacket. Dean grunts at the weight of the other man, it slams him against the brick wall behind him, pushing all the air from his lungs. He gasps, inhaling the putrid stench coming off Balthazar. Dean almost gags.

“Get off me!” he shoves Balthazar away, who takes two wobbly steps backward before crumbling on himself, landing on his butt with a grunt. Dean doesn’t wait to see if the other man is ok, he books it as fast as he can in the opposite direction. Fuck Balthazar, he’s too far-gone for anything to save him at this point. Dean runs, the air sawing in and out of his lungs, he doesn’t stop. Not even after Balthazar’s rage filled scream echoes off the grubby brick buildings.

***

Dean tries not to flinch under Pride’s glare. “I suppose you’re on the road to redemption,” the man mutters, collecting the pile of money Dean had neatly arranged onto the table. Pride pockets it, turning his back on Dean grabbing the scotch bottle. “What are you still doing here?” he barks and Dean almost falls over himself on his way out the door.

“You’ve really fucked yourself up, Winchester.” The comment takes Dean by surprise. He thought he was alone, sitting on the curb outside the store. Looking up he sees Meg leaning against the burnt out streetlight on the corner of the block.

“What do you want?” he grumbles, scuffing his boot against the gravel.

“Nothin’. I was just making idle chit chat.” Meg pushes away from the metal pole, her hands deep in the pockets of her leather jacket. She ambles over to Dean, sitting down beside him.

Dean snorts, “Since when did you make idle chit chat with me?”

“Since I’ve begun to notice you fucking up. There’s something up with you. You’re too… emotional. You treat those fucked up junkies like they’re people. You never used to. They sure as hell don’t see you as a human. What’s changed?” she lifts an eyebrow. Dean looks away, clasping his hands loosely between his knees. A lot as changed. But he’s not going to tell her that. He’s not going to tell Meg anything. They aren’t friends. Hell they’re barely acquaintances. Dean huffs a weary sigh.

“I realised that there is more to life than just making money and keeping afloat… I want out,” he says honestly. Meg cackles slightly manic.

“You don’t think the rest of us want out too? You idiot! None of us want to be here. We’re all as screwed as you. All our lives are fucked. The difference between you, and me though is that I’ve accepted it. You haven’t. You _should_. Every one of us is just as fucked as the junkies we supply. Maybe you’ll get some more sleep at night when you finally come to terms with that.” Meg pushes to her feet. She walks away without a backwards glance. Dean watches her go, jaw clenched to keep himself from calling after her. He wants to. He wants to contradict her. To argue. To say that they aren’t fucked up. That they aren’t screwed. But he doesn’t.

He sits with his thoughts. He feels sick to his stomach but he doesn’t know why.

***

He walks with his head down, kicking pebbles as he heads home. Dean’s tired. Some days he feels just this bone deep weariness that he can’t shake. It’s on those days that he thinks that maybe the best thing for him would be to go to sleep and never wake up. Of course all these thoughts are countered by thoughts of Sam. What would Sam do without him? Now he has Cas too. Another person who cares for him. He can’t let either of them down.

Dean’s two blocks away when he gets the phone call, his phone screeching in his pocket. “Yeah?”

“Dean! Oh god Dean you have to come home!” Sam’s words are hurried and Dean has trouble understanding what the hell his brother is talking about.

“Sammy? What’s wrong? Calm down I can’t understand you,” Panic claws at his gut as he listens to Sam’s terrified voice on the other end of the line.

“You just have to come home right now!” There are muffled voices in the background. Dean strains to here what’s being said.

“Sammy? Sam!” He begins to run. “Stay on the line, Sam.”

“Dean hurry! He’s insane He’s—,” Sam breaks off with a yelp of pain.

“Sam what’s going on? Who’s insane? Sam—,” the line goes dead. Dean curses, his heart pounds in his chest. This is it. Pride’s got someone there hurting Sam all because he’s a fuck up. It’s just like Meg said.

Dean sprints, his arms pumping back and forth. He has to save Sam. It’s all his fault that this is happening! Nausea swamps his gut, almost making him buckle over. Thoughts of Sam and what’s happening back at the house keep him going. He has to save Sam.

The door is ajar when he gets to the house. Dean pounds up the driveway, bursting into the house. “Sammy!?” He calls out, jogging through to the living room. The scene before him is nothing like he expected. Sam is slumped against the wall, blood dribbling from his split lip. His eyes are glassy with terror. Dean spins, the blood draining from his face. Balthazar stands in the centre of the room, crazed eyes zeroing in on Dean. He’s panting and a terrifying smile stretches his lips. But that isn’t what concerns Dean. It’s the wickedly sharp blade that’s being held to Castiels' throat.

*****CASTIEL*****

Sam and he slump down on the couch, eyelids drooping but determined to finish their Lord of the Rings marathon. Half a dozen empty cans of Red Bull sit on the coffee table before them. There’s an hour left of the final movie, they can do it. Cas clenches a pillow tightly in his hands as they watch Samwise clutch desperately at Frodo’s limp form.

At almost four in the morning the last thing they expect is for the doorbell to ring. Cas casts a look over at Sam; he’s leaning forward in his seat staring at the television screen. Rolling his eyes Cas gets up, “I’ll get it then.” He hears Sam chuckle as he makes his way to the door. Pulling it open he’s shocked to find his brother. Balthazar has his back to the Winchester house, but from the ratty clothes and hunched set of his shoulders, Castiel can easily identify his brother. “Balthazar? What are you doing here?” he asks, pulling the door wide. Balthazar doesn’t reply, so Cas takes a step towards him, holding out a hand, questions on his lips. Balthazar spins, his fist striking Cas in the face. Stumbling backward Castiel lifts his hands to his face too shocked to even register what’s happening. Balthazar crowds him against the side of the house, spinning Cas around so his cheek is pressed to the panelling. “Balthazar what are you doing?” Castiel struggles in the tight grip.

“Shut up!” Balthazar curls a hand painfully in Castiel’s hair, tugging his head back to expose his throat. That’s when Castiel sees the glint of a metal object in Balthazar’s hand, a second before the cold sharp edge of a knife is being pressed to Castiel’s throat hard enough for Cas to feel a pinch. Castiel gasps, fear coiling in his stomach. How can Balthazar do this? He must be high on something.

Cas gulps, as he’s lead into the house, the hand in his hair pulling sharply. “Move,” Balthazar grunts. Balthazar leads him through the house to the living room, crowding behind Castiel close enough that his acrid breath stirs the hair at Castiel’s ear.

Cas makes a choked sound and Sam looks up over the couch. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. Slowly he raises from the couch, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you need to put the knife down,” he says calmly, a stark difference from the look of abject terror on his face. Balthazar presses the knife harder until the skin of Cas’ neck breaks, a line of blood welling up from the shallow cut. Castiel whimpers, biting his lip at the sting.

“Where is Dean Winchester?” Balthazar barks.

“Not here," Sam replies. Balthazar growls, the knife pressing further into Castiel’s neck until he lets out a sharp yelp. “Dude! He’s not home, I swear!” Sam cries, eyes swivelling from Castiel to Balthazar.

“Call him. Get him here. You call the cops and he dies.” It shakes Castiel to the core at how bluntly his brother is speaking about taking his life. Sam immediately digs in his pocket for his mobile phone. Slowly, he pulls up Dean’s contact showing Balthazar before hitting dial. Sam raises the phone to his ear and Castiel clenches his eyes shut, the terror he’s feeling makes him want to puke and Castiel has to swallow hard to keep the bile down.

“Dean! Oh god Dean you have to come home!” Sam spits into the phone and while Cas can’t hear what Dean’s saying he can imagine how Dean’s feeling right now. “You just have to come home right now!”

“Hang up,” Balthazar growls. Sam looks nervously to Castiel, who pleads with his eyes to just do what Balthazar says. Right now who knows what the crazy bastard is capable of. He really doesn’t want to die. Not to be cliche but, he he's too young to die!

“Dean hurry! He’s insane He’s—,” Balthazar pulls them across the room, the hand in Castiel’s hand releasing to strike at Sam’s face as he grapples for the phone. Sam bites out a yelp, releasing the phone. It clatters to the ground and Balthazar stomps down on the electronic. It crunches under his shoe.

“Get over there!” Balthazar shoves Sam towards the far wall. Sam goes willingly, slumping down on the ground. Once Balthazar is certain that Sam won’t cause any problems, his hand moves back to clench in Cas’s hair.

The wait for Dean is excruciating. The movie plays in the background, forgotten. Morning light begins shining through the windows giving the room a happy golden glow; it contrasts with the horror that’s playing out. Balthazar holds the knife against Castiel’s throat hard enough to be continually biting into the skin. With each nervous swallow, Cas can feel blood dripping down his neck.

“Sammy!?” Dean bursts into the room and Cas lets out a little whimper. Everything is going wrong. Why is this even happening?! Dean spins, going pale as a sheet as he takes in the scene. “Balthazar drop the knife and we can talk,” Dean demands.

“No. You give me what I’m entitled to and then we’ll see,” Balthazar spits.

“You really think I’m going to do that? You’re holding a fucking knife to your own brother’s throat you crazy son of a bitch,” Dean cries, hands coming up to gesture wildly at the knife in Balthazar’s hand.

“Call it extra precautionary measures.” Castiel can’t see his brother’s face but he knows that Balthazar is grinning. He sounds mad. Completely insane.

“Look I don’t have any on me right now…” Dean tries to placate him.

“Liar!” Balthazar shouts.

“I’m not lying. Why would I lie?” Dean’s eyes flick from Balthazar to Cas. Pain and anguish fill his gaze and Castiel has to close his eyes before he begins to cry.

“I don’t… You _are_!” Balthazar stutters.

“I’m not. Balthazar don’t do anything stupid.” Dean takes a step forward, voice calm. Balthazar tugs Castiel backwards a step, the knife digging in painfully. Castiel gasps, feeling the warm liquid running down to pool at his collarbones. Dean immediately stops. “Please. I’ll get you them if you just put the knife down… Balthazar…” Dean pleads. Castiel can feel the knife beginning to tremble against his throat and somehow he knows that that isn’t a good sign. The look in Dean’s eyes confirms it. Dean surges forward just as bright hot agony blazes across Castiel’s throat.

He tries to scream. But the only thing that comes from his lips is blood. The pain is all consuming. Cas barely registers falling to the ground. He clutches uselessly at his throat, hands slipping and sliding through liquid. He can hear voices but they’re growing dimmer. The lighting is growing dimmer. Sam appears over him, hands being shoved against his neck. Blackness begins creeping in. Sam is saying something. His lips are moving. Tears are falling, dripping wetly onto Castiel’s face. Sirens wail. _Is this what dying feels like?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? 
> 
> Don't forget to comment about your outrage! :D


	12. Chapter 12

*****DEAN*****

The sound that rips its way from Dean’s throat can’t be described as anything other than a wail of anguish. He watches as Castiel’s eyes go wide, shock making the usually bright blue irises dull. Horrible gasping choking noises fall from Cas’ lips as he slumps to the ground. It’s like everything is happening in slow motion.

“Dean gimme your phone,” Sam cries, rushing to Castiel’s side. Dean pulls out the cell, throwing it to his brother. Sam holds the phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His hands are painted with blood as he applies pressure to Castiel’s throat. Blood gushes from between his fingers. Sam starts crying as he tries desperately to keep his friend alive.

Dean turns to Balthazar. Fury burns red hot inside him. Without thinking, he launches himself at the other man. He _can’t_ think. Balthazar hurt Cas and Dean wants him to pay. Fists connect with flesh and more blood is shed. He slams Balthazar against the wall, fists pummelling his face, his stomach. He’s choking on emotion. He’s crying. And yelling but he has no idea what he’s saying. Blood thrums in his ears dulling everything to a monotonous roar.

“DEAN! STOP! HELP ME!” Sam screams at him. Holding Balthazar up by the collar of his jacket, Dean turns to Sam. He’s on his knees; blood stains his hands, his face, and his clothes. He releases Balthazar who falls like a stone. He rushes to Castiel’s side.

“Oh god Cas, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he chants, hands hovering above the boy. Castiel’s eyes stare ahead, not really seeing anything. His fingers twitch at his sides and his chest rises and falls slowly. “Fuck! Ok Sam we need to get a towel. Let me…” he places his hands over Sam’s holding together the wound in Cas’ throat. Sam jumps up, racing away to find a towel. “It’s going to be ok, baby. I promise. You’re going to be fine,” Dean blubbers, staring in horror as the warm blood leaks from Castiel’s throat. Castiel’s head lolls to the side, eyes turning in Dean’s general direction, his mouth opens and he tries to speak. A gurgle and more blood escape from his lips and Dean has to bite back a terrified whimper. “Don’t speak. It’s ok. The ambulance is on its way.”

Sam comes back and they wrap the towel around Cas’ throat. Immediately blood soaks the material and Sam’s sobs grow louder, more anguished. Cas’ skin gradually turns pale and clammy as he really starts to become affected by the blood loss. He loses consciousness and Dean’s heart kicks up another notch. “Where the fuck are those paramedics!” he growls, anger building up again.

Not a minute later the wail of sirens signals the arrival of the ambulance. The paramedics race into the house, pushing the two Winchesters out of the way. They load Castiel onto a stretcher and wheel him from the house. A woman waits with the Winchesters, asking them questions: _what happened? How long has it been since his throat was slashed? Who is that?_ The last question is about Balthazar. Sam has to answer all the questions. Dean watches numbly as they roll Cas away. Two men help Balthazar up and walk him to the ambulance.

Dean’s heart feels like it’s been ripped out of his chest. This is all his fault. Castiel could die! He should have been able to protect him.

“Sir are you coming to the hospital?” the female paramedic asks and Dean nods.

“I’ll drive. You go on ahead. We’ll follow,” he tells her. The woman nods, hurrying from the house. The ambulance speeds away, leaving the brother’s alone in a puddle of blood.

“Come on Dean. We have to go to the hospital,” Sam begs, tugging at Dean’s arm like he used to do as a child. Dean stares blankly at his hands. Blood cakes his fingernails; it soaks his through his shirt and stains patches on his jeans. It looks like a massacre. He nods and they stands on shaky legs, heading to the garage.

***

They run into the hospital, people give them horrified looks. They eye all the blood, covering them form head to toe. Really the brothers probably look like a pair of murderers. A nurse rushes to greet them. “Castiel Novak?” Dean rushes. She nods solemnly.

“Come on, let’s get you two cleaned up,” she tries to usher them through the halls. Dean plants his feet, clenching his hands into fists.

“How is he? Tell me how he is!” he demands.

“Dean…” Sam places a hand on his arm.

“No! I want to know how he is!” Dean yells, his voice hitching on a sob.

“He has lost a lot of blood,” the nurse states, giving him a pitying look. “They’ve taken him into emergency surgery. I don’t know how he is. Now please, you need to come with me,” she grabs Dean’s sleeve, hauling him down the hall.

***

The nurse shows them to a bathroom, she tells them to wash off and change into a set of scrubs. Dean takes the blue uniform without comment.

Stripping off, he lets the soiled clothes fall to the floor. A small mirror sits above an equally small basin. Catching his reflection: wide, blood shot eyes, bloody streaks marring his chin, cheeks and under his nose, snot mixing with the blood turning it into a gloopy mixture on his face. Dean steps into the shower watching with a heavy heart as Cas’ blood swirls away down the drain. The sheer amount of it has his knees buckling and Dean has to lean against the wall. He wipes off his face, sobs building up in his chest. The lump in his throat grows bigger and bigger until he can’t swallow it any longer.

Gasps turn into whimpers turn into full-blown sobs that have his whole body shaking. His wraps his arms around himself. Cas could die and it’s all his fault. He’s never going to forgive himself.

“Dean? Are you ok?” Sam knocks on the door, his voice muffled through the door. Swallowing down his emotions he washes quickly. The quicker he washes, the quicker he can go see Cas. Dean focuses on seeing Cas. _Because Castiel is strong. He won’t die. He can’t. He can’t because… I love him_. Dean has to sit down, as the realisation hits him. Folding himself down on the toilet seat he drops his face into his hands. “Dean? Open the door.” Sam knocks again. Numbly, Dean does as his brother says. Sam stares up at him, tears in his eyes. He too is dressed in a set of blue scrubs.

“I love him, Sam,” Dean states, his voice void of the tumultuous emotions warring inside him.

“I know.” He wraps Dean in a hug. They hold each other as they come undone.

***

A woman is waiting back outside in the waiting room. She’s panic-stricken and approaches him, questions babbling from her lips. _Where is Castiel? You have to tell me! I need to see my brother!_ It’s only at the mention of _brother_ that Dean puts two and two together; this is Anna.

Sam tries to console her, to tell her that they don’t know what’s going on. She just nods wearily, wiping away her tears. Dean rubs at his eyes, a bone deep tiredness washing over him now that the adrenalin has begun to wear off. Sam leads her over to one of the plastic chairs, Dean following along, lost in a fog. He never thought that something like this could have happened. Not to Cas. Cas didn’t deserve it.


	13. Chapter 13

*****CASTIEL*****

Castiel doesn’t really know what’s going on. It’s all a blur of blue and red and bright lights followed by darkness. Voices yell, at him, around him. But throughout Castiel can’t feel anything, it’s like he’s floating on a sea of clouds, ready to be swept away by the slightest breeze. For a moment he thinks he sees Dean. But he can’t be sure. Everything is so fuzzy. It’s like someone scooped out his brain and replaced it with cottonwool. There are people moving above him, they talk to him, prod at him but Castiel doesn’t answer. He’s so tired. He just wants sleep.

The next time he wakes up he’s in a dark room. Well, it seems dark to him. Cas still feels like his head is filled with cottonwool but at least the floating sensation has abated. Scanning the room with his eyes, Cas can tell that he’s in a hospital room. If he listens intently enough he can hear a heart monitor beeping somewhere over his shoulder.

There’s something wrapped around his neck and Cas itches to get it off. He’d try to, but his limbs feel heavy, too heavy to move so Cas doesn’t. He just lies there, listening.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. _I’m sorry._ This is all my fault. I tried to tell you, Cas. I really did. But you’re a stubborn bastard.” Castiel sees Dean, hunched down in a chair beside the bed. Dean’s hands firmly clasping one of his, he’s crying. Silent tears roll down his cheeks. Castiel has the urge to wipe them away. He wants to comfort Dean, tell him that he’s fine. But he can’t move! “And now look,” Dean gives a little deprecating laugh, “You’re in hospital. You’re close to death and it’s all my fault. You have to hold on Cas. I have so much I want to say to you. The actual you, not this…” He breaks off, a sob choking him. Castiel can feel his heart breaking. He tries to mentally project the words at him. Tell Dean that it’s ok. That everything is going to be ok.

“You know, I planned on telling you that I love you. Like really. I love you so much and seeing you hurt, it kills me. I’m so fucking stupid!” Dean growls the last part. Dean is angry with himself. Castiel can hear the self-loathing in his voice. Cas tries to give Dean’s hands a squeeze, it must not work, or it was too weak and Dean didn’t feel it. “I love you so much Cas please don’t die!” Dean pleads; he looks up, green eyes red and puffy. His shoulders shake and his lip trembles. “You can’t die you’re just a kid. You’ve got so much ahead of you. Not like that’ll involve me.” Castiel wants to scream. Why wouldn’t that involve Dean? He loves Dean! He wants to shout it from the rooftops: he loves Dean! “I won’t blame you, if you never want to see me again. I’ll understand.” Anger bubbles away at Cas and he makes a mental note to hit Dean when he’s not high as a kite on what’s probably a fancy cocktail of drugs. “Anyway, I just want to tell you, that I’m going to get out. I promise you that Cas. I don’t know how Cas, but I will. For you I will.” Dean stands, staring down he tries to smile. “I love you, Cas,” he stares right into Castiel’s eyes. Leaning down, he presses their lips together before turning and storming out the door.

_Be careful Dean._

*****DEAN*****

Dean pounds on the backdoor of the craft store hard enough the wood rattles on its hinges. Wrath pulls it open with an expression to match his name. “Winchester what the _fuck_?!” he snarls. Dean doesn’t grace him with an answer, instead pushes his way inside.

“Where’s Crowley?” he demands, stalking down the hallway.

“Not here,” Wrath growls, re-bolting the door.

“Bullshit!” Dean bites, pulling open the door to the basement, he takes the stairs two at a time. He can hear Wrath muttering to himself, but the other man doesn’t follow. A wise decision considering Dean’s a man on a mission and he will not hesitate to take out anyone standing between him and being rid of all this shit for good.

Dean storms down the seemingly endless corridors until he comes to a door he’s never had the guts nor the need to go through. Now, there’s nothing stopping him, no fear, as he pounds on the freshly painted wood. There’s cursing and muttered voices on the other side. “CROWLEY!” Dean bellows, never ceasing his pounding on the door. Eventually it opens with the sound of a bolt being drawn. A giant dude, Sloth, bars his way and Dean shoves him, putting in as much strength as possible. Sloth barely moves back a pace. “Move,” Dean growls, which warrants a raised eyebrow and a glance over his shoulder, confirmation from the boss. Dean doesn’t hear Crowley’s answer but Sloth moves away, granting Dean entry.

The room is brightly lit and lavishly decorated. The walls are a rich burgundy, leather couches line the walls on the left and right, a poker table sits in the centre of the room where Crowley sits with a man Dean can’t place. “Dean!” Crowley greets, a smile on his face. “How nice of you to join us,” his voice filled with false cheer.

“I want out, Crowley,” Dean demands, cutting straight to the chase.

“Oh dear. Don’t you want a drink before we get down to business?” Crowley slouches in his chair, a hand waving in the air, some kind of signal, presumably for someone to grab Dean that drink.

“No. I don’t want a drink. I want out. Now,” Dean bites out. Crowley’s expression changes, his smile being replaced with the irritation that’s been boiling below the surface. His hands drops from the air.

“Fine,” the Brit growls. “Please give us a minute,” Crowley stares pointedly at his opponent. The man gives Dean a dark glare before leaving the room, Sloth following him out. “You know I can’t have you blathering to the cops about my little operation here.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do what ever it takes,” Dean raises his chin defiantly. Crowley stares at him, his face completely blank of emotion. Before long he lets out a hard-done-by sigh.

“It’s such a shame. I liked you, Dean,” Crowley waggles a finger at him, “Just answer me this. Why? Why now?”

“Because I found something worth living an honest life for. I woke up to myself. It took me damn long enough,” Dean confesses, thinking of Castiel, lying prone in the hospital. Hurt, all because of Dean. If he had known this was going to happen, Dean would have cut and run long ago. “I’m done Crowley.” The older man crosses his arms over his chest, one hand coming up to stroke his beard in thought.

“Ok.”

They stand in silence for a moment. Dean narrows his eyes. Is that it? There’s going to be no repercussions? There has to be a catch, Crowley won’t let him just walk away.

“Is that it?” Dean questions.

“No of course not, you fool. I’m going to have you beaten to within an inch of your life, you know… just as a little insurance policy in case you decide to go all vigilante and stop what I’ve spent the better half of twenty years establishing. No hard feelings,” Crowley gives him a toothy smile. Dean opens his mouth to argue, but the door bursts inwards and Sloth marches up to him, hooking a beefy hand in the back of Dean’s jacket hauling him out. Off balance Dean flails, stumbling as Sloth drags him back down the hall towards the stairs leading up to the main level. Sloth shoves him forward and Dean almost falls up the stairs.

Pride and Wrath are waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Pride has a look of pure glee on his face, he’s been waiting for this moment. “Oh Winchester,” he sighs, popping his knuckles. “You know how much I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Get on with it,” Dean clenches his jaw, a hand locking over the back of his neck. They drag him from the store into the parking lot. Sloth shoves him, hard. Dean stumbles, barely keeping his feet. He raises his hands, a futile and half instinctual gesture to defend himself. Pride laughs, circling Dean like a lion would his prey. Dean makes the mistake of concentrating on Pride; he doesn’t see Wrath behind him, a steel-toed boot striking Dean in the back of his knee. He crumples to the ground and then the blows start coming. From all sides, six boots landing on his ribs, his back, his legs even his head. It’s all Dean can do to curl into a foetal position. Pain radiates from everywhere, it becomes a blur. Sharp bites with each kick, barely dulling before the next kick lands.

“Get up!” Wrath shouts, in a respite from their punishing kicks. Slowly, Dean raises himself onto his haunches, he can barely breath, the pain is all consuming there’s nothing but the pain. Sloth leans forward, hauling Dean up. He sways on his feet, arms hanging limply at his sides. Sloth holds Dean still as Pride gets in his face.

“You worthless piece of shit. You know Crowley said not to kill you. Who’s to say we just accidentally underestimate our own strength? After all we wouldn’t _intentionally_ go against the boss’s orders. Right guys?” Pride grins, turning to Wrath and Sloth. They make noises of agreement.

Pride’s fist clips Dean in the jaw, snapping his head to the side. Dean can feel blood running down his face, from his nose, his lips, from cuts and scrapes on his face. If it weren’t for Sloth keeping him up, Dean would be on the floor, he hasn’t the strength to keep himself standing. Pride hits him again and again, getting out his pent up anger from the past few months. Dean sniffles, between the amount of blood pouring from his nose and the no doubt broken ribs making it hard to breath. Pride lands one more blow straight to Dean’s nose; a definitive crack reaches Dean's ears as the cartilage shatters. Sloth releases his hold and Dean collapses to the ground, his skull connecting with the bitumen.

The three men stare down at the bloody and broken form of Dean Winchester, sneers on their lips. Sloth and Wrath turn on their heels, walking away. Their job done. Pride lingers, arms crossed over his chest. His knuckles busted, his own blood mixing with Dean’s. He’s disgusted with the man lying on the ground. Working up saliva, he spits in Dean’s face, it doesn’t even make him flinch, the spit working its way in with the blood. Pride never thought that Dean Winchester would be in this situation. He was wrong.

***

Dean comes to who knows how long later. There’s early morning sunlight stabbing him in the eyes. Just one more thing to add to the list of body parts that hurt. Dean cries out silently in pain when he tries to move. He can’t. He can’t do it. It just… _hurts_ to damn much. He knows he can’t stay here, on the dirty ground. He has to move. Call Sam. That thought has him groaning. Sam still has his phone. Despair chokes Dean’s throat, his tears leak from swollen eyes. _Got to move. Got to move. Got to move!_ He chants that over and over. Excruciatingly, he crawls onto his hands and knees. Fire licks up Dean’s chest with every breath and whimpers of agony escape him. He wants to scream, but that’s not going to help, it'd be a waste of oxygen.

Crawling on his hands and knees, Dean drags himself from the parking lot. There’s nobody around. Nobody to see him, nobody to help him. Dean wishes for someone to round that corner and come to his aid. Hell he’d even take fucking _Meg_. He just has to get to a phone before he dies. He feels like he’s dying. The pavement swims underneath him, making his head throb to the beat of an unheard drum. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean swallows back the nausea. It doesn’t work. He retches onto the ground, hunching over. Bile burns his throat, it dribbles from his lips, but Dean doesn’t have the strength to wipe it away. He has to get to a phone.

Time seems to elongate when one is in pain.  A few seconds feels like minutes, minutes feel like hours. For Dean, he feels like he’s been crawling for _days._ You’d think after being in constant agony for so long, that everything would dull down to one continual ache. But no. Fire still licks up his chest, his head pounds and his nose feels like there’s someone continually pressing on it, stabs of pain shooting straight into his fucking brain. It’s a godsend when Dean looks up and on the corner of the block, sees the payphone.

***

Getting up off the ground is a feat in itself. As soon as Dean’s on his feet it’s like the pain hitches itself up a notch, leaving Dean gasping and holding back tears of frustration and agony.

He pulls out his wallet, and if he had his wits about him he’d be surprised he still has it, pushes a couple coins into the slot. He picks up the phone, dialling his cell. He waits as it connects, leaning heavily against the plastic wall.

“Hello?” Sam’s wary voice picks up. Dean almost cries in relief.

“Heya Sammy. I need some help,” he chokes, voice rough as sandpaper.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I'm back in school so writing is kind of being pushed to the side. *groans*

*****SAM*****

Sam has been by Cas’ side all night long. He has no idea where Dean disappeared off to. He gets the impression that he doesn’t want to know. The Impala is still in it’s parking space in the hospital lot so he figures Dean can’t have gone far.

The chair beside Castiel’s bed isn’t comfortable. It’s plastic and has stupid armrests and makes it impossible to find a position that doesn’t make Sam’s back ache.

There are bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and knots in his hair, he looks like a zombie and moves like a zombie, but he doesn’t care. He’s scared and sleep deprived and he just wants everything to be ok again, like it was before. The heart monitor beeps and Sam watches the little green line tracing Castiel’s pulse through half lidded eyes. He can’t bear to look at his friend; one glance at the bandages wrapped around Castiel’s throat, blending in with the sickly pale skin, blue veins visible under the skin had Sam retching into a trashcan. So instead, he watches the heart monitor, his head propped up on a palm.

Nurses buzz in and out, checking Castiel over, some ignoring Sam completely, others giving him sympathetic looks. He ignores them all.

Jess arrives sometime around nine, bringing with her a set of clothes for Sam. She doesn’t say anything, just holds out her arms. Sam stands, folding himself into her hug, she whispers soothing words into his neck, a hand stroking through the hair at the base of his neck.

There is only one available chair in the room so Sam offers it to Jess while he sits on the ground between her legs, his head resting against a jean clad thigh. They wait in silence for Castiel to wake. She passes the time, threading her fingers through Sam’s hair, working out the knots and tangles. It feels nice and Sam feels himself drifting off.

At first Sam doesn’t recognise where the noise is coming from. It takes Jess poking his shoulder to render him capable of pulling a phone, Dean’s phone, from the pocket of his jeans. The number on the screen is foreign to Sam. He casts a look at Jess who shrugs. Sam accepts the call.

“Hello?”

“Heya Sammy. I need some help,” Dean’s voice is faint and filled with pain, no scratch that, agony.

“Dean?! Where are you? What’s wrong with your voice?” Sam throws the questions at him, alert in an instant. His gut tells him something is very,very wrong.

“You gotta come get me, Sammy. It’s… it’s bad,” he says with what sounds like hoarse giggles. They make a shiver go down Sam’s spine. It’s the kind of hysterical laughter crazed serial killers have.

“Where are you?” Sam demands, pushing himself to his feet. Jess is staring at him, her brow furrowed in concern. Dean’s voice is barely audible down the line and Sam feels himself growing frustrated. How is he supposed to help if he can’t understand what his brother is saying?!

By the time Dean spits out a street name, Sam is already out the door, ordering his brother to keep talking even as he hands the phone to Jess. There are many benefits to having a brother obsessed with cars. One benefit being said brother teaching Sam how to break into cars and two, how to hotwire a car. Why? _Emergencies, Sammy._ Whether or not it was because Dean was out of his mind with worry or for some other unknown reason, Sam finds the Impala unlocked. He slides into the front seat, digging around in the glove compartment for Dean’s tools. He gets to work pulling the plastic covering off from under the steering wheel. Jess takes the passenger seat, speaking calmly to Dean. Sam’s hands shake and he feels slightly light headed. First Cas and now Dean. Could things get any worse?

***

“We’re nearly there Dean. Come on. You can do it… I know it hurts. You just have to be strong. Put more quarters in. Dean… he’s gone,” Jess’ voice breaks and Sam takes one hand from the steering wheel to grasp hers. He doesn’t know what Dean’s saying, but from the torment in Jess’ voice, he assumes bad. There’s a fist in his gut, clenching down. He feels sick. He has no idea how he’s going to get through this.

“There!” Jess cries after ten minutes of searching for the street Dean named. They patrol down the lane, eyes scanning for Dean. Sam barely pulls the car to a stop before Jess is jumping out and rushing to Dean’s side. Sam’s breath catches in his throat. His brother is bloody and unconscious, slumped down inside a phone booth. He’s nearly unrecognisable, mottled with blood and bruises.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam mutters, pulling his brother up. He’s groaning, barely functioning. Jess slides under an arm while Sam takes the other; together they half drag, half carry Dean back to the Impala. “We have to get him back to the hospital,” Sam grunts, taking the whole of Dean’s weight as Jess opens the back door of the car.

“Yes,” Jess hiccups, tears building up in her eyes as they carefully lie Dean back on the bench seat. Closing the door, Jess turns away from Sam, muffling her cries in a hand.

“C’mere.” Sam grabs her, pulling her to his chest. Until now, he never realised how much Jess loved both Winchester brothers; Sam romantically and Dean as if he were her own brother. Seeing him like this is hurting her just as much as it’s tearing Sam apart. “It’s ok. Everything is going to be ok,” Sam murmurs, trying in vain to believe his own words as he watches a line of blood drip from Dean’s broken nose.

***

“How is he?” Sam demands of Dr Milton.

“Calm down kid, let me get my thoughts in order,” Gabriel steps back, holding his clipboard like a shield to ward off the young Winchester. By chance or doctor insistence, both Cas and Dean end up in the same room. Seeing them lying swaddled in hospital blankets, side by side makes Sam want to scream. It’s so unfair. Why is it they who are hurt? They’ve done nothing. They’re innocent!

“Ok so your brother is in a bad way. Lord knows what he did to land himself in such a state but he’s got several broken ribs and a _lot_ of internal bruising. The back of his skull also as a three centimetre crack in it and as a result he’s suffering from a severe concussion. We’ve done some tests and by a god given miracle there is no bleeding, pressure or swelling on the brain. Clearly his nose is broken, we’ve tried to set is as straight as possible but it’s not that easy. I’m going to assume someone with a _very_ big grudge against your brother attacked him.” Gabriel stares at him, flipping the papers on his clipboard smooth.

“Is he going to be ok?” Sam asks meekly.

“Eventually,” Gabriel sighs, patting Sam on the arm before wandering down the hall.

Sam makes his way back into the hospital room. Jess is standing between the beds, arms wrapped around her middle. Hushed sniffling noises escape without her permission. “He’s going to be fine. They both are,” Sam insists, coming to stand beside her.

“I hope so,” she whispers, leaning back against Sam’s taut body.

***

They watch Dean and Castiel sleep for a while. The room completely silent apart from the whirring of machines and their own breathing. A nudge to Sam’s shoulder wakes him from the nap he didn’t know he was having. “I think we should go home. Get some sleep. Come back in a few hours,” Jess states, pulling him up from the floor.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok,” Sam nods, clutching Jess’ hand tightly in his. They look at the two men asleep in bed, identical amounts of pain and grief glittering in their eyes. Soon. Soon everything is going to be ok, Sam’s sure of it.

*****DEAN*****

All he remembers is the pain. Waking up in a hospital bed as Dean’s heart thumping painfully in his chest. How the hell did he get here? It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, light streaming in through the blinds making everything blurry and uncertain. Dean’s head lolls to the side, everything still hurts but at least it’s dulled down to something resembling bearable. His hand moves idly back and worth across the white bed sheet. He’s so out of it he doesn’t realise the person in the bed near him.

“ _Dean_ ,” he hears a half broken voice say. Dean jerks, his eyes landing on Cas. He’s still horribly pale, but now he’s awake. Cas is staring at him. His eyes filled with sadness. Dean has to look away, guilt eating him from the inside out. He created that sadness. It’s his fault.

“I’m sorry Cas,” he chokes, staring at his hands. His voice is slurred, whether it’s from the hard-core drugs or his head injuries, Dean isn’t sure.

“Look,” Castiel wheezes, “At. _Me_ ,” Cas pleads. He sounds terrible and it makes Dean feel like complete shit. The normally gravelly voice is no more. Cas is barely understandable. Reluctantly, Dean turns back, tears pooling on his cheeks. “Love… you,” Cas says.

“I love you too,” Dean whispers, hoarsely. They stare at each other; Dean longs to hold Castiel, to tell him everything is going to be ok. Wait. He didn’t end up in his hospital bed for no reason. “Cas,” Dean says, his voice growing stronger. “I’m out. I got out. No one’s going to get hurt anymore. I promise.” Dean waits for Cas’ reaction, a hopeful smile twisting his lips.

Cas cries. At first little whimpers, but gradually they build until painful wheezing noises fill the room. Dean’s heart twists. Why is Cas crying? _No, Cas should be happy!_ Dean doesn’t give much thought to what he does next. Castiel is upset and that makes Dean upset. Pulling back the covers, Dean slides to the side of the bed, moving in tiny increments, he gets to his feet, swaying slightly. He’s hooked to an IV and grabbing onto the pole for support, he staggers over to Castiel’s bed. With shaking hands, he moves Castiel to the side so he can slide onto the bed next to him. They cling to each other, mindful of their injuries. Dean’s throat closes up when he feels the thick bandages around Castiel’s throat as Cas snuggles close. Warm tears drip down Dean’s neck and he holds Castiel tighter.

“Don’t be sad, Cas,” Dean pleads.

“ ‘M not. ‘M so happy. Love you, Dean,” Cas chokes, turning his face to Dean. Dean can’t speak, too overcome with emotion. He settles for wiping away Castiel’s tears.

***

Later when a nurse walks in she almost as a coronary seeing Dean’s empty bed. When she sees them together she demands Dean get back in his own bed. They both put up such a fight that she ends up drawing a compromise, only for the day, they must sleep at night in their own beds. Of course they agree.

However as soon as they’re left alone after a dinner of crappy hospital food, Dean makes his trek back over to Castiel’s bed. They curl together, listening to each other’s breathing, falling asleep tucked close to each other’s chest.

Sam and Jess come back the next day to find them wrapped together. They say nothing, too overwhelmed with having them both on the road to recovery. Sam chews him out, asking questing after question. _What happened to you? What do you mean you ‘got out’? We are having a talk once you’re out of here, Dean Winchester._ It makes Castiel chuckle, seeing how overprotective the younger Winchester is. Seeing Castiel smiling, for the first time since Dean woke up in the hospital bed on the first day makes Dean’s heart flip in his chest.

***

Over the next few days as the dosage of Dean’s pain medication lessens and he grows to actually taste the poison the hospital staff try to pass off as food, his irritation at being stuck in the lumpy bed with no source of entertainment, skyrockets. Not to mention Sam interrogating him every chance he gets. Dean is actually forced to tell Sam _everything._ It makes Sam mad.

Furious.

It makes Sam angrier than Dean has every seen him. Dean doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he dealt drugs or the fact that he kept it a secret. In the end, Sam has to go for a walk to calm down. When he returns he seems to have come to terms with his emotions. Dean doesn’t mention the slightly swollen lips and mussed hair. Eventually Sam lets out a sigh and a muttered, “Well at least we don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

And that, Dean thinks, is the understatement of the century. He feels a load off his shoulders. As Dean gazes across to Castiel’s bed he actually believes that for once everything is going to be ok.

Castiel’s voice gets better; from the harsh scratch of chalk on blackboard that makes everyone flinch in sympathy, to more of a rumble like a man thrice his age. Dean still feels guilty, like it’s his fault that Cas sounds like that, despite being told on more than one occasion that _I’m going to be fine, Dean. It’s not you’re fault. You’re not a superhero; you can’t always be there to save me._ He’s taken to giving Cas a placating smile and keeping the guilt buried down until it goes away. Of course that doesn’t work and soon enough Castiel catches onto what he’s doing and gives him _the look._ He knows that once he’s out of here, once they’re both out of here, Cas is going to give him a firm talking to and maybe if he plays his cards right a little roll between the sheets. A guy can dream right?

***

Of course, nothing ever goes to plan. Dean and Cas are watching crappy daytime TV, curled up on Castiel’s hospital bed when they arrive. Two cops trailed by a thunderous looking Dr Milton. A newbie and a detective who look all too happy to be finally nabbing Dean Winchester. Dean immediately freezes, panic seizing his muscles. Castiel’s hand on his arm tightens and he looks up at Dean with a mix of worry and bone deep sadness in his eyes.

“Dean Winchester, Dr Milton has agreed to discharge you as in his professional opinion, you are now healthy... relatively. Please stand and hold your hands behind your back,” the detective states, a smug smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Dean lets out a sigh. He knew this was coming. He knew everything, eventually would come back to bite him on the ass. It seems that now, it has. So he stands, doing as the cop says. “Dean Winchester, you are under arrest for evading police and numerous drug charges such as…” he doesn’t hear the rest of the cops’ spiel for Castiel has begun to sob, curling in on himself. Broken noises spill from his lips and Dean can feel his heart ripping apart. He wants to say something, to console the teenager, but what can he say? “Come with me, Mr Winchester,” the cop drags him backward by his cuffs. Dean staggers, moving with the policemen. He's glad Dr Milton let him start wearing sweats and a tee shirt instead of the backless hospital gowns or this could have gotten mighty awkward. The thought fills him with a grim sense of amusement.

“Dean!” Castiel screams, his voice filled with so much anguish it makes Dean want to punch something, do anything to distract him from the pain he’s feeling inside him right this moment. Cas tries to disentangle himself from the bed sheets, his whole body shaking.  Dean stops, the cop tugging on his cuffed hands in irritation. Dean gives the douche a glare before turning back to Castiel.

Castiel throws himself at Dean, arms curling around Dean’s neck. Castiel hiccups, his sobs dying down to little whimpers as he composes himself. “It’ll be ok,” Castiel says with hope and determination. “We’ll get through this. We will!” Dean presses his lips to Castiels’ wishing he could cup his face, one more time before he’s detained for god knows how long.

“I know. I love you Cas,” Dean whispers, pulling away. The detective pulls him from the room and the last thing Dean sees is Castiel slipping to the ground, Dr Milton rushing to catch him as he falls.


	15. Epilogue

*****CASTIEL*****

Castiel stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He stares at the scar. It’s ugly. He hates it. With a trembling finger he traces it, following the ridges, as it gets closer to the flesh behind his ear. It’s there that it’s really noticeable all pink and raised, barely healed.

He catches Sam’s eye. Castiel didn’t even know the younger Winchester was in the bathroom with him. Sam’s face is filled with pity and anger. Castiel tries to smile. “It’s ok Sam,” Castiel murmurs, turning around.

“No it isn’t,” Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, it has to be. There’s nothing to be done. Now come, we have to get ready for the trial,” Castiel states, voice completely emotionless. He stalks from the bathroom, heading down the hall to Dean’s bedroom.

It’s lonely without Dean. It hurts too. Seeing Dean’s things, smelling him in the bed linen but not being able to touch him, hold him, speak to him. Cas prays with all his heart that somehow, Dean can get the best sentence possible. He knows Dean is a good person. Somehow the judge needs to see that too.

Castiel trails a hand over the dark button down shirt laid out on Dean’s bed. He never thought he’d need to find something suitable to wear to a court hearing, but alas here he is, with not one but two different hearings pencilled onto his calendar. Dean’s and Balthazar’s.

Castiel doesn’t even want to think about his brother. He’s been in police custody since the night of the incident.

He dresses silently before wandering out to re-join Sam. He finds his friend waiting in the kitchen. “Ready?” he asks, sliding his hands into his pockets. Sam nods.

*****DEAN*****

Dean barely listens as his lawyer prepares him for the trial. He’s not stupid, he knows he’s going to jail; it’s just a matter of determining for how long. Dean’s made his peace. It’s time to face up to all the bad things he’s done.

“Mr Winchester, it’s time.” The surly man stands, gesturing for Dean to follow. Dean’s hands are cuffed and he follows as his lawyer leads him to the courtroom. Dean knows that what ever happens, whatever punishment the judge hands down, it’s for the best.

He scans the room and a lump forms in his throat at seeing Castiel and Sam sitting in the public gallery. Their faces are solemn, as if they were attending a funeral. Cas gives him a little wave as Dean takes his seat by the lawyer. The trial gets underway shortly after.

Dean sits quietly, listening as the prosecution states the facts and as his lawyer advocates for him. The judge, a frail looking woman with sharp, intelligent eyes stares at Dean throughout. He holds eye contact for a while and he feels like she’s weighing his very soul.

“Mr Winchester how do you plead?” she asks, eyes narrowing. Dean’s lawyer pushes him to his feet.

“Guilty, Your Honour.” There was no way he was going to plead not guilty. It’s time to face up to his crimes.

***

Before long its time for her verdict and she addresses Dean directly. “Mr Winchester please stand.” Dean does. “You have quite a track record for such a young man. Being part of Fergus McLeod’s little set up. Would you please tell the court just exactly how you landed in hospital?”

“I spoke directly to Crow—I mean Mr McLeod and told him I wanted no more part in the drugs. I told him I’d do anything to get out. I didn’t want to be associated with that anymore, Your Honour,” Dean says, his voice clear and strong.

“And why is that?” The Judge asks.

“Because I met someone who showed me that I don’t need to do that… break the law and live like that.” Dean looks over his shoulder at Cas. Castiel gives him a watery smile. Dean turns back to the judge, his eyes misty. She gives him a sympathetic smile.

“It seems you have been trying to get yourself onto the right side of the law. Are you remorseful for the crimes you have committed?”

“Yes. If I could go back I’d never have gotten into the drugs in the first place, Your Honour,” Dean declares, nodding.

“I’ve taken into consideration your remorse and your co-operation with the authorities have helped with your sentencing. Mr Winchester I hereby sentence you to seven years imprisonment with a non-parole period of one year, for evading police and the distribution of methamphetamine over a period of two years. Mr Winchester, I feel that after the one year your chance of getting parole is high… provided you do as you are told in prison.” Dean hangs his head, nodding. He can hear Castiel sobbing behind him. Looking up he gives the judge a small thankful smile. He knows his sentence could have been a hell of a lot worse.

He turns, eyeing Castiel. Tears streak down his face and although he has a hand over his mouth, Dean and the rest of the court can hear his anguish. Sam has his arms wrapped around Castiel, offering comfort.

Dean is lead from the courtroom by his lawyer. He’s swallowing back tears and the surly man rubs a hand over his back in comfort. The lawyer is talking again and Dean just nods along numbly.

***

Castiel comes to visit him every week without fail. He chatters on and every week he says the same thing, “I’ll be back next week. Only a few more weeks until the year is up.” It makes Dean smile and keep up hope. Castiel is set on the idea of Dean getting parole after his first year.

Every week Dean nods and says, “Of course Cas, I’m a good boy after all.” He finds that this little ritual distracts him from the hell that is jail. That and knowing that Castiel and his brother are waiting for him when he finally gets out. Dean knows that as long as he has them, he can get through anything. Bring it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any legal nuts out there, you may be cringing at the court scene... I have no idea how the American judicial system works, sorry. I tried to be brief.
> 
> Any-who that's it! The End. Thank you to all who stuck through it and read along. It means a lot.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos really make my day so don't forget to drop me some ;)


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